Lessons: A Modern AU
by Erik The Red Death
Summary: Christine has just been accepted to the prestigious conservatory of the Paris Institute for the Fine Arts. But, what happens when she is noticed by the school's infamous, illustrious headmaster? Well, she is in for a lesson or two. Kay inspired Erik, slow burn, fluff.
1. Chapter 1

This was a dream. Surely, this was nothing but a figment of her overactive imagination, and once someone pinched her, she would wake up.

This couldn't be happening to her. Her, who always seemed to have the worst luck in the world? No, surely not. Something this absolutely wonderful, amazingly life-changing, could not be happening to her.

If she was being completely honest with herself, she had no idea how she got in. She had outstanding letters of recommendation, her grades were impeccable, but in her opinion, her voice was… Mediocre at best. Of course, everyone thought that about themselves, but for Christine, she deemed painfully and irreversibly true. And yet, there she was.

During their last few months of high school, her classmates chattered endlessly about where they were going for college, what they would be studying, and where their new lives would take them. One of her close friends was going to the United States, to study biology. Another, England, to study psychology. She tried her very best to be happy for them, and to her delight, she was accepted to a few of the schools she applied to. Most were too far away from her home, with Mamma Valerius, in a village just outside of Paris. But the one she was hoping for, more than anything, left her ignorant until they very last possible moment.

The Paris Institute for the Fine Arts was home to the most selective conservatory in the world. Revered by all in the vocal craft, its allure and painful exclusivity were more than enough to give it a reputation that preceded even its name. It was known for producing the most exquisite, well-trained, dazzling voices that the world of vocal performance has ever seen. Hopeful students sent their resumes, applications, and video auditions in over the internet, and they were not contacted until acceptance or rejection was revealed. Quite terrifyingly, hopefuls were not even notified if their applications were received. They were required to sit and wait, and because letters were not sent until almost summer, the anticipation was agonizing. For ninety-nine out of a hundred students that applied, their hopes would be crushed curtly by a letter. No waitlists, no negotiations, no second chances. And you were not allowed to apply twice.

Christine was not even going to apply. It was too exclusive, too competitive, and she was convinced that she did not have a chance. It was only with constant pushing from her high school choral director, a kind-looking old man with years of vocal experience under his belt, that she even let him record her singing. She could only bear to do one take, choosing one of her favorite French art pieces, which served to display her pretty vibrato and her lack of weakness in either register. She couldn't watch it before she sent it in, for if she did, she knew that she wouldn't find the courage to press 'send'. She sat in her teacher's office, M. Bernard was his name, quite literally shaking as she submitted her application.

"Monsieur Bernard, this is stupid," she murmured, her fragile little voice shaking as she stared at the 'send' button with agony.

"Nonsense, Christine," he chided her gently, setting down his grading for a moment. "There is nothing stupid about trying. Who knows, they might see something in you."

After watching his pupil stare off into space, her hands shaking, for a few more minutes, he finally heaved a big sigh. Taking initiative into his own hands, he reached across his desk to her laptop, hitting the button before she had the chance to say no. After all, the application was due that night, and he knew that once she got home she would not be able to convince herself to do it.

"Monsieur Bernard!" She squeaked, looking to him with wide eyes.

"Christine!" He squeaked back, laughing after his rather awful imitation of her. "And now we wait. We will revisit this at the end of the year. Now, it is time for class."

The end of the year. It seemed so far away, and yet it came rushing at her, like a predatory cat primed for the kill. In fact, she was had all but forgotten about her application to the Institute during the last few weeks of her senior year: until the letter arrived in her mailbox.

Staring down at the envelope in her hands, it felt infinitely heavy as her hands shook with anticipation. She felt the thick cardstock with her fingers, and the more that she looked at it, the less she thought that she would be able to open it. Soon after her arrival at home, her grandmother, Mamma Valerius, came to greet her as always. She too stood frozen, staring at the letter in her granddaughter's hand. An aged, but still very spiritedly woman of her mid-60's, her face lit up with an excited energy much beyond her years.

"Well open it, Christine!" She squawked, her voice obviously not as quality as her granddaughter's.

"I already know what it is going to say, Mamma," Christine mumbled, still simply dumbfounded.

"No, you do not," Mamma scolded her gently, pulling her with an unexpected strength to sit on the sofa in their modest, yet comfortable, living room. "Open it."

After a deep, shuddering breath, trying her best to keep her hopes down, Christine ripped open the envelope with trembling fingers. It took her some effort to pull out the folded paper that lay inside, and even more effort to open them. Tears flooded her eyes in anticipation for her rejection, but scanning the first few lines of the letter, her breath sent still. Mamma Valerius noticed the sudden change in Christine, and yet, there was no sigh of defeat, no words from her mouth.

"Heaven above, you got in…" Mamma's voice was more like a breath as she struggled to keep her composure. "You got in?"

Almost threatening to faint from shock, Christine gave the smallest of nods, allowing her grandmother to take the letter and read for herself. Her old, kind eyes made quick work of the letter, and though she always had absolute faith in Christine, she could not believe it herself. Behind her letter of acceptance was another letter, one that Christine had failed to notice in her shock. Mamma Valerius read it first, and that was what nearly sent the woman into cardiac arrest.

"Christine," she whispered, a hand going to her granddaughter's knee, "Christine."

When the girl finally looked up, taking in a deep, cleansing breath, she felt like she was dreaming.

"My dear, they are offering you a full scholarship."

Christine widely regarded that day as the best day in her short life thus far. She remembered every detail, memorized every word on that letter, as if to convince herself that she was not dreaming. She looked at her name, printed on those pages, on the envelope, more times than she could count. Perhaps they sent her someone else's acceptance by accident. After all, anything could happen. But that did not seem to be the case.

The numb shock of that day carried with her through that summer, giving her a dull indifference to time that made the days go by in a pure whirlwind. She worked long days at the coffee shop by her house, hoping to save enough money so that she did not have to work as much while in school. It kept her mind and her body busy, so that the shock that was threatening to destroy her did not do as much damage. Oh my God, I am going to the Paris Institute for the Fine Arts. The thought never seemed to escape her head, repeating over and over again like a mantra that would not let her go.

The Institute was very adamant on the students of the conservatory living on campus, even if they lived as close as Christine did. Of course, Christine knew this even when she was applying, but upon her acceptance, it completely hit her that she would have to leave home. It was only a twenty minute drive back to her Mamma, thirty if there was heavy traffic, but to a girl as sheltered as Christine had become, it could be one kilometer or a million. It didn't make a difference.

Mamma Valerius promised her that she would visit every weekend, go for lunch with her when she got lonely, and annoy all of the new friends she made, and that helped somewhat. But leaving home was not going to be easy for her. She already did it once, when she was just a child, from Sweden after her father died. As moving day arrived, she prayed for the strength to do it again.

That fateful day in mid-September could not come quickly enough for Christine, and yet at the same time the days flew by agonizingly fast. She was anxious to start this new beginning of her life, and yet she constantly wondered if she was ready. She doubted herself completely, had no faith in herself, right up to the time the car stopped in the campus parking lot. Mamma Valerius was driving, for she quite feared Christine passing out behind the wheel, letting the child fully absorb what was happening to her. This is what she always wanted, and yet she has never been more scared.

With shaky legs and even shakier heart, Christine stepped out of the car, and as she turned around to look at her grandmother, the first thing she saw was her beaming, encouraging smile.

"Is this really happening…?" Christine mumbled dreamily, looking all around her with a dazed expression.

'Really, truly!" Mamma squeaked excitedly, opening the trunk of the car to grab one of Christine's suitcases. "And you've earned it, love."

The campus is absolutely gorgeous. Some of the buildings are quite old, giving a unique, historic charm to the grounds, while other buildings evidently were just built. Everywhere possible was covered in lush green, including trees, bushes, flowers, and ivy creeping up the walls of the older buildings. As Christine neared one of these historic structures - her dormitory, in fact - she mused that this would be the most wonderful place to take a nighttime walk.

Two suitcases were all it took to bring most of Christine's belongings to her new home. One was filled with clothes, ranging from shorts sundresses for hot days, to leggings and heavy sweaters for cold days. The other suitcase, the one Christine was carrying, as it was the heaviest, contained all of her material belongings: her favorite books, manuscripts, and of course, her tea collection. There was nothing she loved more than tea. In her haze of thought, her feet carried her slowly up a few flights of stairs, and the burning of her legs was what brought her back to reality.

The dorms were quite small, but homey all the same, and with a quiet, sweet voice Christine greeted the other students unpacking in her hall. After a few agonizing moments of shuffling awkwardly in between people, she reached her room… and her roommate.

"Oh my gosh, hi!" A little voice squeaked inside the room, putting down whatever she was doing to come greet her. Suddenly, two very strong arms were wrapped excitedly around her neck, squeezing her tightly before letting her go. "My name is Meg! I'm studying dance here. What about you?"

"I'm Christine," she greeted, quite out of breath. "I… I'm studying voice, in the conservatory."

"No. Way." Meg's eyes widened, a grin spreading across her face. "No one gets in there! God, you lucky duck! Soprano, huh?"

"Yeah," Christine breathed, tucking a thick blonde curl behind her ear. "How did you know?"

"Spidey-sense," Meg replied jokingly, throwing a pillow haphazardly onto her bed. She had situated herself on the left side of the room, and by the looks of it, she has been unpacking for at least an hour or two. "Actually, no - my mom teaches dance here, and I have sit in on too many rehearsals to count. You get a knack for it. You've got that whole… glowing-from-within-with-glorious-upper-register vibe."

"Shut up!" Christine squeaked indignantly, quite unlike her, if Mamma Valerius said so. The grandmother watched from the doorway, a smile spreading across her lips, reaching her eyes. She hadn't seen Christine be a carefree young adult for a long time.

Christine soon began to unpack herself. The clothes were quite easy, folded neatly and placed in the dresser next to her small desk. Then came her books, placed on the shelf above her desk, along with her notebook and her Bible. On the desk, she placed her favorite mug from home, her electric tea kettle, and a small wooden box filled with tea bags.

"Feel free to use the teapot whenever you want," Christine called to Meg in a friendly tone, causing Mamma Valerius to chuckle. Christine was normally very protective of her tea paraphernalia.

Meg thanked her as she straightened out her bedspread, smiling widely at her handiwork. Christine soon finished her initial unpacking, beaming from ear to ear for the first time in a while. What she was looking at, strangely, felt like home.

Mamma Valerius left soon after that, a little teary-eyed, but insistent that she would be back next weekend, after Christine's first week of classes. A pang of anxiety flooded Christine's senses, partly due to being left alone, but mostly because of the thought of classes. It brought out her worst fear: ruining the best opportunity she had ever been given, by failing out.


	2. Chapter 2

Christine had moved in on a Saturday, meaning that she had the weekend to settle in before classes. She used this time wisely, exploring the campus, getting her bearings, and finding out where her classes were. In the center of campus, several clubs had set up camp, handing out flyers to unsuspecting passers-by, drafting new members. During her short walk, Christine had managed to be laden with countless flyers for a cappella group auditions, all the while wondering how they even knew she was a singer. To the older, more experienced students, it was simple to spot: the dreamy, wistful look in her eyes, the soft rhythm of her step, and most telling, the fact that she was wearing a scarf in the middle of September.

The weekend passed by in a blur, and before Christine knew it, it was Sunday night. She had class bright and early tomorrow, on the fundamentals of music theory. By the selective ness of this program, Christine had no idea what they meant by 'fundamentals'; she, of course, could read music very well, as taught by her late father, but perhaps this was not enough. Perhaps, she was simply not enough.

She sat at her desk, attempting to read one of her favorite novels, but her anxiety of the next morning caused the words to blur and swim on the page. If she did not get a hold of her nerves soon, they would consume her. Making herself a cup of tea in her travel mug and wrapping herself in a scarf, she told Meg she was going on a walk.

"Christine, it's literally midnight," Meg warned her, looking up from her phone.

"I'll be just a few minutes," Christine reassured her, in her usual soft tones. "I just need some air."

Even in September, Paris was frigid at this time of night. Mercifully, there was no wind, just cold air, a little damp to the touch with mist. It stung Christine's throat as she walked through campus, but she did not mind. It made her feel alive. She was completely alone at this time of night, and the campus that was normally so lively with people was now still with the slumber of night. She preferred it like this, surprisingly: it was quiet, and under the shelter of the dark, she could find some solace.

At last, after a long, slow amble through campus, Christine found a satisfactory spot to sit. In the middle of one of the lush, green lawns, far from any other building, sat a magnificent fountain, with a marble platform running around. She sat, with her tea, in quiet contemplation for a few moments, simply staring at the glints of dew on the grass below her. After a time, to fill the strange, comfortable silence around her, she felt the urge to sing. Only when she confirmed that there was no one else there did she allow herself to, and soon she began the soft, lilting melody of an old Swedish lullaby. Her father's favorite, if only he could see her now.

To Erik, there was something bittersweet at the beginning of a new school year. Of course, there were the new first-years to get settled: half of them will fail out the first quarter, and most were not worth his time. In the same theme, most of the students on campus would never actually meet him, and for the unsavory few that did, it was not for good reasons. Almost never, when a student was called into his office, was it for praise. In fact, he did not even deal with normal disciplinary actions, including most expulsions. His impossibly elusive stance as the headmaster of this institution gave him quite the reputation with the students, which worked wonderfully in his favor. Fear was the greatest motivator, in his opinion.

In his short time on this earth, shorter than most people would expect for a man of his wealth, Erik had become a jack of all trades, and a master of most. He spent years traveling Europe during his youth, commissioning fantastic architectural designs for the country's wealthiest patrons. With this money, he invested heavily in infrastructure and stocks, which is where the steady flow of 'stupid' amounts of money has come from ever since. And what is there to do with that money, other than to spend it on something that you love. Music has always been Erik's biggest love. And so, he did not just decide to work at the greatest conservatory in the world: he bought it.

With the beginning of a new school year came ridiculous amounts of paperwork. Student registrations, budget reports, purchasing forms, all to be strictly approved and controlled by him. Of course, he could give all of this work to hired help, perhaps a financial advisor or a secretary. But to Erik, what's the fun in having stupid amounts of money if you couldn't control where it was spent? Even so, the grueling amounts of work kept him at his desk until late in the evening, often making him wonder why he was doing this to himself in the first place. He needed some air, he thought, a walk would do him some good, even at this late hour.

Even for a man so used to the cold as himself, this was a bitterly cold night. During normal hours of operation, no one would hope to see Erik roaming the campus, for his seclusion habits did not allow for it. He was either chained to his desk, his head down in work, or he was home, with his cat and his music. His amount of isolation made the students wonder if he even existed at all, a brilliant conspiracy theory often passed around with a joint during late night escapades. Despite his debated existence, Erik still managed to strike fear into the hearts of students, even from far away. After all, he saw everything.

These thoughts, coupled with numbers from spreadsheets, compositions, and dozens of other scattered thoughts clouded Erik's head as he aimlessly ambled through the empty, still campus. The silence was quite comforting, and after a few moments the cool night air served to clear his mind. And yet, there was something nagging at him, pulling him from within, and it only took a few more steps for him to realize what it was.

Who is that voice?

Of course, being the owner and sole monarch of an institution of this caliber, Erik has heard many a spectacular voice come through this campus. All quite wonderful, all went on to have amazing careers, well deserved. But he has never heard something like this.

At first, he most definitely thought he was hallucinating. He would not have been surprised, either: he can't remember the last time he slept, and eating was an occasion spared for once every few days. And yet, by some impossible hunch, he knew he was not hallucinating the soprano voice carried gently to him by the light breeze.

He stood quite still now, as if movement would scare the voice off. Beautiful voices were in abundance at the Institution, but never had he heard something so raw, and yet so naturally gorgeous. He could detect a hint of light training, but nothing compared the insulting refinement of the school's most common voices. Just natural, beautiful pitch, with an upper register as clear as a bell. Singing in Swedish, not to mention. But who was it?

He could not take it anymore. Despite his formidable reputation amongst the students, even the staff, he had to investigate, lest he never hear that voice again. His wonderfully sensitive ears carried him almost effortlessly to the source, confusion welling up in his chest all the same. Who was outside, singing, at midnight when there were classes tomorrow? And then he saw. Perched upon the old fountain on the green, wrapped tightly in a scarf, he saw the reflection of white-blonde hair under the moonlight.

Just as soon as he realized that he had found his target, the voice stopped. He had been noticed too.

As soon as Christine heard the crunch of grass betray the footsteps that lead to her, she fell silent, her heart beginning to hammer in her chest as she quickly turned to see who it was. She shouldn't have gone out this late at night, didn't Mamma Valerius tell her enough times? It wasn't safe, and now she was about to learn first hand why. She turned her head, her eyes wide, but they only widened further when she realized who it was. Oh my God.

Christine had never even seen a picture of him. There was none on the internet, and the only hint to his existence on the school's website was his name, Erik Carriere, under the title of headmaster. Of course, under normal circumstances, she never would have been able to tell it was him, except for one identifying factor in every description she has ever heard of him: he wears a mask. And that same mask was now staring her down, about five meters away, on the grass. The exclusive, infamous headmaster of the Paris Institution for the Fine Arts was gazing at her, in the middle of the night, presumably after hearing her singing to herself. She didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or die.

Erik continued to stare at her, becoming vaguely aware of the rising tension between them. He quickly realized she was a student, which surprised him beyond belief. Of course, he should have known, with a voice sounding as natural and young as she did. He would have been an idiot to think it was a professor or staff, this late at night on a weekend. Oh, the poor dear, she probably thought she was in trouble now. He knew he should say something, but as he tried to do so, the tension in the air translated to tension in his chest. He realized, now, that she would become one of the only students with an accurate description of him. And for this reason only, he knew he had to speak.

"Don't stop." His voice was barely a sigh, but it carried effortlessly over to her in an instant. Those two words both calmed her and terrified her all the same: it was strangely, ethereally beautiful.

"I-I'm… I apologize if I disturbed you," Christine stammered, feeling incredibly stupid. This was not how she wanted her first impression to go, not at all. Her speaking voice was nothing like her singing: it was shy, timid… constricted. Erik frowned, furrowing his eyebrows. Perhaps he was hallucinating after all.

"Was that you? Singing, just now?" His voice was a little harsher than it needed to be, but he needed an answer. "Answer me."

It was now that Christine wished she could die. In her panic, she prayed quickly for a lightning bolt, a divine act of God, anything to strike her down where she stood. She knew her voice was bad, or so she thought, but she did not think anyone was listening. But of course, she could not force herself to lie. Whatever punishment or expulsion he was going to dole out on her now, she would take it with honesty, for it was probably what she deserved. She always knew that perhaps she wasn't as good as people thought she was. She gave him the smallest of nods as a reply, but strangely, he did not offer any kind of reaction. Not that she could see it, anyway, with the mask.

"I have never heard anything like it," he breathed, and Christine's heart stopped. Her overwhelming anxiety had quickly turned his statement into I have never heard anything so fundamentally bad.

"I… I'm sorry," she stuttered softly, tears beginning to well in her eyes. Why did she always have to cry in the worst of situations? It took all of her mental strength not to let them fall. At her response, Erik's brow knit tighter in a pang of confusion.

"Why are you apologizing?" He asked, his voice remaining quite stern. He studied her face momentarily, his frown deepening, knowing that he was losing her. She was panicking. In his pattern of curt authority, he continued, "What is your name?"

Now this she was not expecting. Perhaps I have never heard anything like it was not bad news. Maybe, just maybe, it meant something different. Something better. She simply stared into the night for a few moments, utterly startled once his voice rung through the air again.

"Are you deaf?" He pushed, knowing he was being very harsh. But he was desperate. "Your name."

"Oh!" She gave a little noise of surprise as she jumped to attention. Almost instinctively, the last thing she wanted to do was to make him angry. "I'm sorry. Christine Daae, sir."

He recognized that name from somewhere, he was sure of it.

"Our scholarship recipient," he muttered to himself before continuing. "Well then, Miss Daae, after your classes end tomorrow, I would like to see you in my office. I assume you know where that is?"

She nodded dumbly, causing him to smirk undetectably. His voice seemed to have that effect on people.

"Do not tell anyone that I have spoken to you," he continued, staring her down with his eyes that seemed to freeze and burn at the same time. "Do you understand?"

In response, he received another baffled nod. He was almost positive that she has now lost her ability to speak, and he took this as his cue to leave her alone. He curtly bid her good night, and his quick, silent stride carried him swiftly out of her view. The moment he left, Christine found release from the tension in her core, and she let out the breath that she was instinctively holding. She was left with only the memory of that encounter, the breathlessness that she felt in her chest, and the overwhelming feeling that this was all a dream.


	3. Chapter 3

As much as she tried to focus, classes the next day were an impossible blur of introductions, beginnings of lectures, and dismissals. Not surprising for the first day, there was no actual singing to be done, just the drone of first day politics. She tried desperately to savor her first day, and she did to some extent, but it was relished in the silent haze that was spinning around in her head. Her classes were very interesting, in fact everything that she ever dreamed of. Fundamentals of Music Theory, Gross Vocal Technique, Opera Studies. But only one thing was on her mind now.

Should she even go to see the headmaster, she wondered? Perhaps the previous night was the result of her overactive imagination, coupled with the adrenaline from the day and that fact that she hadn't slept. Perhaps she was hallucinating, perhaps she should seriously consider seeking medical help. Perhaps, most terrifying of all… It actually happened.

Against all of her anxiety, against everything that her mind was screaming at her not to do, she decided that she had to go. She logically went over her reasoning in her head, coming to the conclusion that, considering she had no history of serious mental illness, last night was not a trick of her imagination. After her classes finished, she quickly returned to her room, where she found Meg, whose nose was stuck in a book. Christine made up some excuse about going to her professor's office hours - which was true, in a way - and decided to change. Last night, he had stumbled across her in sweats, but for her real first impression, she wanted to look nice. For Christine, 'nice' meant leggings, her favorite cream sweater, and her thick red scarf (also her favorite). For a Paris September, it was unusually cold, but cold did not have to equal sweats. She made herself a cup of tea to-go and grabbed her bag, absentmindedly stuffing some sheet music into it before she left.

Her legs felt like lead during the short walk to the center of campus. The administrative office was a tall, multistory building, one of the more modern looking ones on campus. The receptionist at the front desk greeted her kindly, but she found that she could barely speak. Once she relayed the reason she was there, the receptionist checked her schedule, nodding. Her voice became quite serious.

"Dr. Carriere is on the top floor," she explained quietly. "He is the only office there, just down the hallway. Good luck."

Good luck? As Christine neared the elevator, a lump formed in her throat, which she viciously tried to scare away with a sip of hot tea. This calmed her marginally, but as the elevator beeped on its descent to the top floor, her heart was in her throat. Perhaps he was going to expel her after all.

A small, quiet knock caused Erik to look up from his seemingly endless world of paperwork, and with a look at the clock, he realized that it was already three in the afternoon. After a moment's thought, he remembered who it could be, and his voice sounded authoritatively from inside the office.

"You may enter."

She did exactly as she was told, closing the door behind her, and he noticed her hand shaking slightly. Her body language gave it all away to his adept eyes. One hand was clutching a cup of tea, the other hanging 'casually' at her side for a moment, then deciding to rest on the teacup as well. She had tried to relax her shoulders before she came in, knowing it was something that she did, but they were still holding a serious amount of tension that he could see from across the room. He thought she was pale last night, but right now, she was white. She was quite frankly terrified. His voice softened, if only a tad.

"Good afternoon." He stood from his desk, making her remember just how tall he was. There was at least a foot, maybe more, between the top of her head and his.

He was dressed in all black, a casual suit and dress shirt, but the professionalism of it all intimidated her nonetheless. His posture screamed authority, commanded to be taken seriously, and subconsciously it caused her to shrink undetectably. And of course, adorning his face was a sleek, white mask, covering everything save for his eyes and his mouth.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Carriere," she greeted him politely, her voice timid. She made herself continue. "I was told to find you after my classes?"

He nodded, though he did not give much away. He moved out from behind his desk, and Christine could not help but watch his stride: he moved with a silent, slow majesty that begged the eye to follow it. In that sense, it quite matched his voice.

His office was quite large, all bookcases, leather furniture, and mahogany. In some ways, it was quite modern, accentuated by the new laptop on his desk, but in other ways, it felt quite ancient… mysterious, even. Knowing that he did not want to waste too much time, he quickly explained to her the reason she was here.

"I would like to hear you sing again, Miss Daae," he stated simply, approaching a piano that Christine did not even notice was there before. Of course, she knew that she could not say no, and yet her stomach was doing backflips. "I assume you need to be warmed up?"

She nodded and followed him to the piano, absentmindedly setting down her bag and taking her tea with her. Something about the way he said her name pulled her to him, as if she was being lead by an invisible string directly to the source. Again, an undetectable smirk pulled at his lips, as he knew his voice had that effect on people. He thoroughly enjoyed the power it gave him.

Before she could dwell too much on her nerves, his expert fingers found the correct notes on the piano, giving her chords to sing scales to. She sang well, to her utter relief, but Erik was left wholly unsatisfied. She had good tone, her range was above average, and her technique was on-par… But there was something missing. When she sang now, she was nervous, afraid... constricted. It was nothing like he heard last night, not even close. He stopped her abruptly, which made her jump a little in surprise. At the look on his face, she was about ready to faint. He did not look pleased.

"It was you singing, last night? If you tell me the truth now, I will think about not expelling you." His voice was almost a growl, but it still held a professional air of dissatisfaction that she didn't know what to do with.

She looked down to him, now being the taller of the two as he was sitting on the bench, with a mixture of shock, nerves, and a twinge of anger. Tears came to her eyes, but she fought them off, for this was a very inconvenient time. She didn't even know why she was here, and yet every fiber of her being longed to prove herself. In reality, she just wanted to get out alive. Perhaps she was not cut out for this, after all.

"Yes, that was me," she replied timidly, taking a small sip of her tea. "Though, I do admit, I did not know anyone was listening, sir."

"Exactly."

The intensity of that one word was enough to nearly send her reeling. While she caught her breath, Erik stood from the piano, staring at her with a depth that he rarely, very rarely, exhibited to another human being. He did not know why this girl affected him so, but he heard her voice in his heard every second past their encounter last night. It was so natural, so purely beautiful… So tantalizingly moldable. As he continued, he realized that he was already beginning to teach her.

"You are trying to impress me, Miss Daae," he explained, his voice fierce, yet concentrated. This insight made her cheeks go red. "Do not try to impress me. I already know that your voice was satisfactory enough to get in here, although from what I just heard, it was a small margin. We can work on your technique later, but for now, I would like to hear you. Sing for me, Miss Daae. Truly sing."

Those last few words, despite the coldness of his professionalism, seemed to speak to her very soul. His voice reverberated inside of her own head, and shockingly to her, was enough to relieve her of her own mind. Though she did not realize it, his voice was flooded with undercurrents of pure power, enough to snake tendrils of influence into her conscious, even without him trying. To his delight, he noticed her shoulders drop a little.

And then, he heard it. The voice. Christine, now strangely relieved of her own anxiety, decided that she had nothing to lose now. If he wanted to hear her sing, then she would. She decided, rather stupidly in her opinion, on a lullaby that her father would sing her all the time when he was alive. It was one of her fondest childhood memories, and she found that she couldn't sing it like she sung technical music. There was something else there. Behind the facade of a trained, restrained voice, there laid a hidden jewel, something that only Erik could see. There was pure pitch, natural, clean tone, and now he could feel the hints of emotion. True feeling. Other voices he had heard throughout his years simply placed emotion on the surface of their sound, acting out sadness, comedy, pain. But this voice… although singing something quite happy, held undercurrents of true heartbreak, of real feeling. She felt something. He rested his elbows on the closed piano cover, closing his eyes as he listened with terrifying intensity to her melody. This is what he heard last night. This is what he had been waiting for.

Just as she had finished, a knock on the door interrupted the tense silence that followed. Erik almost released a particularly annoyed growl, but he restrained himself, giving his usual professional permission for the culprit to enter.

"Dr. Carriere?" The receptionist greeted him quietly. "Your three-fifteen is in the meeting room on floor seven."

"Cancel it." His voice was low and curt.

"But, sir…" Her voice trailed off in nervousness, for she had no idea what to do. Erik never, not once, cancelled a meeting.

"I said, cancel it."

Christine, watching this encounter silently, noticed that his voice has the same effect on everyone. Strangely, this made her feel better. The receptionist quickly closed the door, leaving the two of them alone again. After a brief, agonizing silence, Erik finally decided to speak again, and his voice grew gentler. Guarded, and professional, but gentler.

"Now, where was I?" He asked, more a passing statement than an actual question. "Ah, yes. Continue, please." This time, he sat in one of the leather armchairs in the center of the office, looking up to her expectantly.

He wanted her to continue? Perhaps this was not going as horrifically awry as she once suspected. Bravely, she decided to sing something a little more technical; after all, she could not sing the headmaster childhood lullabies forever. She decided on an art piece she knew, in French, but after only a few bars Erik raised a hand to stop her. He had all he needed to know, and he had come to his conclusion.

Despite singing on and off stage for most of her life, it was very easy to tell that Christine was terrified, and out of her depth. She possessed some training, but Erik cringed at its effectiveness in crushing her spirit and diminishing any real emotion her voice had. Whoever trained her in this manner should be hung, he thought to himself, rather enraged. But, her natural voice… it was beyond comparison. Beyond the rather abysmal training, her fear, and the constraints wrapped around her vocal cords like a python, the sound when she shed all of that mortal weight was nothing but ethereal pitch. Of course, there were some timing issues, notes that fell flat, glaring issues aplenty, but they could be fixed, with time. Erik knew he could fix them.

In this moment, he knew that this is what he had been waiting for. But in order to get what he wanted, he was required to be vulnerable. Of course, he was the owner and monarch of this institution, and he could very well make her do whatever he pleased. But he knew, no matter how hard he tried, he could not make her sing for him. Truly sing. For this, he had to ask. Although he was quite sure she would not say no - she would be an idiot to - he still he made himself entirely vulnerable to the idea of rejection. And that was terrifying.

"Miss Daae," he addressed her curtly after another brief silence, one that she did not think she could bear another of. "As you might already be able to tell, I have never taken on a personal student. I have wanted to, for many years now, but I have been waiting for the right voice to come along. Your voice, although rather laden with many grave errors and flaws, is the purest in tone and pitch that I have ever heard. Honestly, it is rather astounding, and it is something that I can work with. So, I would like to teach you."

Christine simply stared at him in numb astonishment, for this was not how she was expecting this meeting to go. Not in the slightest. Of course, somewhere deep in her consciousness, she was jumping for joy, but that elation was buried under the impressive weight of shock. For a few moments there, she could not even wrap her head around the concept of the headmaster's offer, and so she stood stock still, slowly realizing that she was being exceptionally rude. Erik simply watched her, not minding her loss of manners, as he watched the color drain from her face.

"Miss Daae, if you are going to say no, I would rather you do it quickly and leave my office." His tone normally would have intimidated her, but there was no denying the hint of humor that shone under the professionalism. "And if you are going to faint, please do sit down and make it easier on us both."

Christine immediately sunk into the plush leather armchair across from Erik, which let him know that she was listening. Once she sat, it was much easier to collect her thoughts, which finally came together in the form of spoken words.

"I… I'm sorry," she stammered, and it was clear that she was referring to her very rude silence.

"Do not apologize." Erik's voice soon remembered its curt politeness. "I suppose that is a yes, then?"

Christine nodded, which relieved and worried Erik at the same time. She had said yes, which is what he wanted her to do. Now the voice was his to do with as he pleased, to mold and shape as he saw fit. At the same time, the voice's owner could barely speak around him. There was a lot of work to be done, and Erik wasted no time.

"Good." He stood from his chair, starting to aimlessly pace the office slowly for no particular reason. "I will let you go for now. Are you available tomorrow at six? I will need you for at least a few hours."

She nodded, finally gaining the courage to use her words.

"I will make myself available, sir."

"Excellent. You may go."

"Thank you," she mumbled softly, standing swiftly from the armchair she was sitting in. She gathered her things, and as soon as the door to his office closed behind him, she instinctively let out the breath that she was holding. This had happened to her the previous night as well, and she expected it would continue to happen for quite a long time. It was not primarily that she was afraid of him, or intimidated by his authority… No, there was something else. His voice, his very essence, made her knees grow weak. He emanated power. Pure, overwhelming power.


	4. Chapter 4

Christine walked quickly back to her room, mercifully finding that Meg was out. Surprisingly, though it was only around four o'clock, she found that all she wanted to do was sleep. She was strangely exhausted, though she did not entirely understand why. She slipped off her shoes, barely having the strength to stow them away before she practically collapsed onto her bed. She pulled her blanket around herself as she closed her eyes, drifting peacefully into probably the best nap she's ever taken.

It was around six when she woke up again, feeling groggy, but greatly refreshed. Meg had returned just then, and she looked away from her phone as Christine began to get up.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Meg joked quietly. "Napping at six in the evening? For shame."

"Shut up," Christine grumbled quietly, taking some time to stretch. "I was tired, okay?"

Meg chuckled a little to herself, switching off her phone so that she could pay more attention to her now-awake roommate.

"Do you want to go get something to eat? I'm starving."

"Me too," Christine agreed, slipping on her shoes again. "I'd love some food."

"So, how did your office hours go?" Meg asked innocently, and for a split seconds, Christine's face went white.

"They were fine," Christine replied softly, avoiding eye contact. Meg saw straight through her innocent facade.

"Christine…" she teased. "You're not telling me something. Come on, spill it."

Christine looked up to her, still determined to feign innocence.

"Is it a boy?" Meg continued.

"No, it's not a boy."

Christine's cheeks turned bright red. After all, the headmaster instructed her very clearly not to tell anyone. But, Meg would not be swayed on her inquisition, and finally Christine relented.

"Meg, you have to promise not to tell anyone. I could get into some serious trouble."

Meg smiled widely then, because she knew she was about to hear some serious tea.

"Cross my heart and hope to die, Christine. I will not tell a soul. Now tell me!"

Christine took a deep breath, sitting back down on her bed. Meg did the same.

"Okay…" Christine started, subconsciously avoiding eye contact. "I didn't go to my professor's office hours… The headmaster wanted to see me."

Meg's eyes nearly fell out of her head.

"No way. He exists?!"

Meg was about to pass out herself, and suddenly she wondered if this is how Christine felt.

"Are you kidding? You have to be joking."

"No, I'm not. And I see him again tomorrow at six." Christine's voice was grave. This was everything that she had ever wanted, and yet she could not shake the terror that gripped her and would not let go. "Meg, you can't tell anyone. I didn't even want to tell you."

"Christine, your secret is safe with me," Meg reassured her, once again standing from her bed. "Oh my God, the headmaster… Well, anyway, let's go eat. You'll feel better."

Christine had been waiting for this all day. She knew that she really had to start paying attention in her classes, but her thoughts were constantly clouded with memories of her meeting with Dr. Carriere the previous day. And, as if the problem could not get any worse, she was also distracted with anticipation for their meeting that evening, which Christine assumed was going to be her first lesson. It comforted her to notice that her music theory class was quite easy, and so she could afford to zone out most of the lecture without much consequence. In fact, she zoned out most of the day, until her feet stopped in front of the door to his office. A quiet knock indicated her arrival to the man inside, who called back in a curt, monotonous fashion.

"Come in."

She did so after a moment of hesitation, greeting him politely as she set down her bag.

"Good evening, Dr. Carriere."

"Good evening, Miss Daae." He did not look up from his computer screen, having one last thing to do before he could devote his attention to her.

"You can call me Christine, if you'd like." Her voice was rather timid, for she did not know how she was going to react.

"Would you prefer it?" His tone became questioning, but he still did not look at her.

"Either is fine, sir. Just…" She hesitated, "no one has called me 'Miss Daae' before."

He finally looked up, and his eyes shone with his familiar intensity, as if boring into her soul. The irises burned a golden-hazel, accentuated by the stark white of the mask that covered the rest of his face. Though, strangely enough, his voice was quite casual. Maybe his eyes were always like that.

"I mostly deal with formals, but I will see how I like using your first name. It might prove useful in the future."

She nodded, staying politely silent until he was completely finished with his work. He stood abruptly from his desk, which made her jump a little, but his slow stride brought her back to a place of calm.

"Now, Christine," he tested out her name on his tongue, finding that it sounded quite delightful. "I have told you before, I have never taken on a student. As such, I frankly have no idea what my teaching methods will entail, but I can give you a few warnings. I know I will be harsh, and I will most definitely be hard on you. I do not accept anything less than perfection, and I do not accept excuses, from anyone who works for me or with me. Do you understand?"

She nodded, following up with a quiet, "Yes, sir."

"Good. During our lessons, knowing me, I will most likely push you to your limit. If at any time you need to stop, sit, or take a break, you are to tell me. I will not be angry, and I would rather have you faint on the sofa than on the floor." Again, there was that trace of humor in his voice, which made a faint smile tug at her lip. "Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

He simply nodded, approaching the piano and expecting her to follow. He sat, looking up to her when she stood at the side of the piano. His fingers expertly found the keys for chords, beginning to warm her up with a series of scales. She followed along knowingly, and to his relief, she seemed to abandon some of her repressive training that hindered her the day before. He was left with a result closer to her natural tone, but he knew that she could do better. His eyes remained looking away from her, towards the wall opposite him, and yet through his ears he seemed to see everything.

"Relax, Christine." The sound of her name caused her immediately to relax her shoulders. How did he even know they were tense?

More corrections flowed steadily to her, each one serving to free more and more of her natural intonation. It mystified her to realize that he already knew her voice better than she did, and he did not even have to look at her.

"Shift your placement more forward in the mouth… There, that's better."

As she grew more comfortable singing in front of him, his corrections varied in their intensity. He never shouted at her, but she could easily gauge his frustration based on the graveness of his tone. Sometimes, it was quite harsh.

"You are still flat on that third. I will not ask again." And of course, her thirds were never flat from that point.

She applied every correction given to her, without hesitation, and as her voice finally reached its natural ability, he had to admit that he was quite delighted. He then decided that he was done with scales, and quickly handed her a set of sheet music.

"I assume pronouncing Italian is something that you are familiar with," he suggests, though it is clear that he is asking.

"Yes, of course." She has never doubted her skills of intonation before this point, but she found that she seriously questioned herself now.

Erik nodded, suddenly turning back to face the piano. He began the short piano introduction, and Christine quickly realized that she was going to be forced to sight read. Although she did not consider herself bad at the task, juggling foreign language pronunciation, notes, and timing while singing the way he wanted proved to be a task almost too much for her. She muddled through, her cheeks reddening at a few glaring mistakes she made along the way, but overall it was clear that Erik was not entirely disappointed in the result. He was not expecting it to be good. He had thrown her into the deep end of the pool, almost prideful when he saw that she was attempting to swim.

But of course, one mistake is one too many for him, and as soon as she was finished, he jumped into his strict, yet fair corrections. He found at least one thing wrong with each aspect of her singing, and he did not hesitate to tell her so. As he spoke, he watched her intently, his expression curious as she pulled out a pencil that was seemingly tucked in her hair. She began to write on her music, turning his corrections into notes that she could use for later. Her brow knit as she concentrated on keeping up with his pace, a glint of determination in her eyes. It was then that Erik knew he had taken on the right student.

Their lesson continued in this fashion, and Christine quickly realized that every warning he had given her at the beginning was true: he was relentless. Perfection was his only goal, and he was not afraid to demand it. He had not praised her yet, instead using harsh reprimanding as his sole form of motivation for her progress. Many a time, Christine thought that she would crack under the pressure, but miraculously she did not. He pushed her to her breaking point, but before he could fully snap her in two, he mercifully announced that they were done.

Christine went to get water, and as she gathered her things, she checked her phone for the first time since she had entered the office. Her eyes widened as she realized that it was nearing nine o'clock, and she had been there for nearly three hours. She was just about to slip on her coat, but Erik stopped her, for there were still a few things that he needed to do.

"I need you to sign this," he stated simply, handing her a stapled form and a pen.

Oh my God, Christine thought to herself as she read the first page. It's a non-disclosure agreement.

"Do forgive me, for you do seem quite trustworthy: fear of expulsion far outweighs your need to gossip," he explained, his voice its normal professional curt manner. "But my legal team is being quite adamant. It is just a precaution."

She nodded numbly, leaning forward a little as she scanned through the short, yet particularly binding contract. He was quite impressed as she took the time to quickly read through what she was about to sign. In a move that surprised him, she soon signed the bottom in her neat, feminine script, handing it back to him without an argument. He gave her a questioning stare, and as if she could read his unspoken question, she spoke.

"I am not going to tell anyone anyway, sir. If it makes you more comfortable to know that I am legally obligated to silence, then I will oblige."

He was about to take this as an acceptable answer, but now something else came to her mind, and it was clear from her expression shift that she was keeping something from him. He was just beginning to turn away from her, to approach his desk, but he stopped, looking at her with an intense glare that served to make her speak. Just from that look alone, the words spilled from her mouth without her knowing how.

"I told my roommate that you had called me in, sir," she blurted out, as if compelled by some invisible force to do so. "Though, I did not give her any specifics as to why. I'm sorry."

For a moment, a brief, agonizing moment, Christine saw nothing short of murderous rage glint in those golden eyes of his, The sight of this alone was enough to make her breath catch in her throat, her entire body tense up in a state of deep, primal fear. But, just as quickly as it had come, it left, leaving in its wake glints of suppressed frustration.

"It is all right," he heard himself saying, but as soon as he regained sense, his voice returned to its harsh demeanor. "But do not defy me again."

She swallowed nervously, which helped her to finally let out the breath she was holding. "Yes, sir."

He nodded, but before he could let her go, he had one more thing for her.

"This is my personal cell phone number," he explained plainly, handing her a slip of paper. "No one else has this, and if I find that anyone does, I will expel you. Use it to correspond with me by text as needed, for scheduling meetings. Now, you may go."

Still quite bewildered from the lesson and from the following proceedings, Christine obediently took her leave. Bidding him a polite good-night, she gathered her things and left his office, taking the elevator down to the ground floor. As if on cue, just as she exited the building, her phone buzzed with a text. When she checked the number, it was from him. Because they both had iPhones, he saw that she had read it.

"Please tell me when you have arrived to your room safely."

In that moment, he knew that he was being quite overbearing, but he decided that it was better than risking her safety. After all, it was his fault that she had to walk alone in the dark, and while he wanted to retain a note of professional indifference, he could not deny that he would worry.

As she walked, she saved his number in her phone, the contact 'Dr. Carriere' now shining at her whenever she checked her texts. When she arrived at the room, Meg was gone, presumably out with friends. Christine almost appreciated this, in a way, for she was rather exhausted and all she wanted to do was sleep. As she took off her shoes, she realized that she had to text him, and she was at a loss for what to say. She went over how to phrase it over and over again in her head until she finally forced herself to send something, trying to convince herself that it didn't matter anyway.

"I'm in my room. Thank you."

After a few moments, she saw that he had read it.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey, Christine," Meg's voice called her out of her haze, causing her to blink a few times in the light of a fall afternoon. It was the next day, and Christine, Meg, and a few other friends were enjoying a late lunch in the center of campus, chatting away happily after they were finished with classes. "We're all gonna meet up later, have dinner, maybe do something fun. Wanna come?"

Christine beamed at the offer, though she remembered her lesson with the headmaster that afternoon. He had texted her that morning, and his professional, curt manner carried over even in texted words. I expect you in my office at four today, he had told her. Judging by the previous day's lesson, she expected to be held for at least a few hours, and so she conveyed this to the group in front of her.

"Sure, I'd love to," she agreed, taking a bite of her sandwich. "Can you wait for me until seven?"

A chorus of 'yeah, definitely's and 'sure thing's were exchanged throughout the group, who soon went back to their discussion of what they were going to do that night. After a time of quietly listening to their conversation, quite lost in her own thought, Christine had the sense to check her watch. It was ten minutes to four! She was going to be late! She quickly packed her things, closing her water bottle and stowing it in her bag as she casually said a goodbye to her company.

Talking to people was slowly becoming easier for her, and with Meg's help, she had began to amass a small group of friends. The thought delighted her as she made her departure, finishing her sandwich on the short walk to the administrative building. She was grateful for the thermos of hot tea she had the foresight to pack herself this morning, as it served to clear and warm her throat as the elevator ascended to the top floor.

The headmaster was finishing up some work as she came in, which was beginning to become a pattern. He invited her to take a seat, and as he accomplished his last small task, she sipped her tea and checked her phone quietly. The moment she saw him stand from his desk out of the corner of her eye, she shut her phone off, stowing it in her bag as she stood as well.

Throughout their lesson, Erik found that, as frustrating as her mistakes were, she was a delight to teach. She was attentive, devoted to her craft, and wickedly intelligent, a trinity that served him well as he worked to mold and shape her voice into something that he could be proud of. Though, more than once, he noticed that there were things she was just not getting, despite his fervent attempt to correct them. His voice, until that point, was sufficient enough to apply adjustments, but she had habits that could not be cracked with simple scolding. Frustratedly, he stood, but gestured for her to continue, which proved to be more difficult as he disappeared from her view. Suddenly, from behind, she felt two impossibly strong hands on her shoulders, pushing them down a little in order to coax out the tension. Her heart nearly stopped, for this was the first time he had touched her, and she stopped singing.

"I am sorry," his voice was curt as always, and she could tell that he really wasn't sorry. "But your constant stiffness is maddening. Relax. I will not ask again."

"It's a habit, sir," she mumbled softly, though she knew it was not an excuse.

"A habit that will need breaking," he reprimanded her, returning to the piano. "Stiffness causes vocal tension, which leads to injuries. I will not have you destroy your range because you can't relax-" he cut himself off, for an idea suddenly spawned in his head. An impossibly stupid, reckless idea, but an idea nonetheless.

"Sir?" She questioned nervously, watching his change in expression as he stood once more from the piano.

After a short, but agonizing pause, Erik looked down to her with a sudden softness, which served to disarm every doubt she had in her mind. Even more disarming were his words.

"Do you trust me, Christine?" And this was the precise moment when he knew her first name was a useful tool.

He simply watched her nod numbly in response to his question, confusion lining every feature of her expression.

"Sit." He gestured to the armchair across from his usual one, and they both sat. "I would like to show you something, Christine."

She suddenly grew very nervous, and instinctively she checked her watch. Four-thirty, she remembered from the quick glance, as he continued to speak. His voice grew more and more gently persuasive, as if to lull her into a sense of calm which made every fiber in her body want to relax.

"I have spent several hours over the last few days listening to you sing," he explained quietly, watching her slowly lean back in the chair. "It is only fair that you hear me sing."

Her eyebrows furrowed curiously at the statement, but he could tell that she was not in the state to argue.

"Sir?" Again, the unspoken expression of her confusion.

"Is this agreeable to you, Christine?" Again, with her first name.

"I… I suppose." She finally acquiesced, and while she did not see the harm in this, she wondered absentmindedly what it had to do with her singing. She was also curious to see what his voice sounded like, for his speaking voice also had a very melodic, musical quality to it. But she did not have to wonder for long.

Erik began to sing a soft Romany lullaby, one that he barely remembered from his youth. It was easy to carry his voice effortlessly to her ears, and he sang with all the splendor of angelic resonance. Watching her expression morph from surprise, to shock, and then finally to calmed curiosity, he altered his pitch slightly, allowing his voice to seep wonderfully into the recesses of her consciousness. Christine could not help but let out a soft sigh, and she was suddenly grateful for the side of the armchair which she leaned on for support. The melody which soon overtook her senses was nothing short of otherworldly, and soon she could focus on nothing else but the pure majesty of his voice. It was intense, overwhelming, earth-shatteringly beautiful. After only a few moments, she was met with the undeniable urge to close her eyes. She tried to fight it, at first, but it was if the voice wanted nothing more than for her to do so. When she finally did, it was as if all the tension released from her shoulders, her neck, everywhere, and she was blissfully falling, down, down, down…

When Christine finally had the sense to open her eyes, he had stopped singing. She took a deep, gasping breath, mostly of confusion and surprise, trying to steady her panic as she realized what had just happened to her. She felt like she was waking up from a deep, restful sleep, and although she felt like she should be tense in her shock, her body was nothing but relaxed. Her vision struggled to focus, and as it did, the first thing she saw was Erik sitting in exactly the same place, exactly the same way, looking intently at her with a mixture of curiosity and bridled concern. His intense, burning eyes followed her every move as she shifted a little, having the mind to check her watch. It was four thirty-five. She had been sitting for five minutes, and yet it felt like five hours.

"How do you feel?" Erik's voice sounded throughout the room again, his question simple and straightforward.

"What just-" Christine mumbled, though she was authoritatively cut off.

"Hush, Christine. How do you feel?"

Christine hesitated for a moment, but she finally gave in. "... odd."

"That tends to happen," Erik replied simply, a small smirk tugging on his lips.

"Was… Was that you?" She asked softly, controlled wariness in her voice.

"Yes." He shifted in his seat, allowing her to absorb his answer before continuing. "Good odd, or bad odd?"

"Good odd." She felt rather than heard the words leave her mouth, as if an invisible force urged her to answer.

"Are you tired?" He asked. He had not had the opportunity to discuss the effects of his voice with anyone at length, and he was beyond curious. Besides, the after-effects of his singing left her quite relaxed, and very truthful.

"No, just…"

"Different?"

"Yes."

He nodded understandingly, suddenly standing from his chair and approaching the piano once more. With one gesture of his hand, a beautiful, unfurling motion of the fingers, she followed him obediently to the piano. It had only been a few minutes since she sang, but it felt like an eternity. Everything felt different, and as he listened to her sing, there was no restraint, no stiffness… She simply sang, sounding effortlessly, hauntingly beautiful. Despite chastising himself for doing something as stupid as singing to her, he could not deny the effect that it had on her, and he began to wonder why he did not do so earlier.

Their lesson continued on as planned, but Erik was delighted as she made more progress than he had ever imagined. Under his watchful gaze, she was beginning to grow more and more confident in herself, willing to take bigger risks and explore the limits of her voice. Quite a few times, she exceeded those limits, achieving more than she could have ever imagined. She even surprised Erik more than once during moments of indescribable beauty, which exhilarated and terrified her at the same time. Other times, she was humbled by her own shortcomings, for as many triumphs were made that day, there were even more failures. Still, this was not seen as a step back by her diligent teacher: even in failure, there was great progress.

Erik would quite willingly continue to teach her forever, but as he checked his watch, he realized that she had been there for nearly three hours. It was very nearly seven o'clock, and while time did not matter so much to him, he knew he should not completely wear her out. After she finished singing the section she was currently practicing, he stopped her, announcing that she was free to go. She nodded and went to gather her things, checking her phone briefly as she slipped on her hoodie.

"Hey Christine, you ready?" Read a text from the group chat Meg had made, consisting of her friend group. She quickly texted a reply, slipping her phone into her pocket as she prepared to go.

"Yeah, meet me outside admin building?"

She did not see the returning text, but she assumed that it was in the affirmative. She picked up her bag, hanging it over her shoulder.

"Goodnight, sir. And thank you."

"Goodnight, Christine." He replied plainly, though his voice was unusually soft. He returned to his work, watching her go out of the corner of his eye.

When Christine exited the ground floor of the administrative building, she quickly spotted her group of friends sitting on a bench across the sidewalk. She was still quite dazed from what had just transpired in the last few hours, but she forced herself into a casual expression by the time they spotted her.

"Hey, Christine!" A boy from the group called to her, and she quickly recognized him as Pierre, one of Meg's dancer friends. "What were you doing in admin?"

"Financial aid stuff," she replied nonchalantly. "I had to fill out a few forms for my scholarship."

Meg gave her a knowing look, but of course said nothing. She was sworn to secrecy, and Christine's trust would not be betrayed so easily. Soon, the group moved off of the bench, casual conversation flowing between them as they began to walk down the sidewalk.

"I heard the headmaster's office is on the top floor," Pierre continued, all toothy smile. "Though, students never see him, unless it's really bad. Conspiracy theory - he's a ghost."

"Shut up, Pierre!" Meg cried, punching his arm playfully. "That's so not true."

"Well, has anyone here actually seen him?"

He looked around the group expectantly, and Meg quickly glanced at Christine, who said nothing. After all, she had signed an NDA, and she did not know what breadth of detail that covered. She simply let him have his fun, and soon after, they decided on a place to eat.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, Christine woke up rather early, despite her exhausting lesson and a late night out with friends. She was about to go back to sleep until her alarm went off, but the pinging of her phone brought her fully out of her pleasant slumber. She silenced it quickly, for she did not want to wake Meg, looking at the text with sleepy eyes. It was from the headmaster.

"Do not report to your Music Theory class this morning. Instead, report to lecture hall 101 of Mozart Hall. 8 AM."

She was surprised at this, a pang of anxiety hitting her chest, but she was too tired to argue. She sat up in bed as she formulated her reply, trying to find the inner strength to get up.

"Okay, I will, I'm just worried about missing lecture."

His reply came in mere moments.

"Don't be. You're not enrolled in the class anymore."

Oh my God.

"Did I do something wrong?" She replied back nervously. She knew it was probably best to leave him alone, but her curiosity was insatiable.

"No. We both know you are far too advanced for basic music theory."

She breathed a sigh of relief, even though her anxiety only heightened at the prospect of what was waiting for her. Though, realizing it was still only seven o'clock in the morning, she did not question him further.

"I expect you in my office at four. Do not be late." And with that, he left her alone.

Realizing fully that she had woken up early, Christine decided to take a hot shower, which helped tremendously to relieve some of the fatigue from her muscles. She dressed in her favorite cream sweater, which served to keep her comfortably warm, and she managed to wrestle her hair into a long braid over her shoulder. Normally, her wild mess of white-blonde curls refused to be tamed, but she was grateful that at least today she would look decent. She made herself a cup of tea to-go, packing her bag before she ventured out into the cool morning air.

She arrived at the lecture hall just in time for class. It was one of the larger halls, and before she could find a seat, she made her way to the front. The professor was pulling his laptop out of his bag, and Christine presumed that he should know that she was there. When he looked up to her, recognition seemed to flash across his face.

"Good morning, sir," she greeted politely, albeit nervously, extending her hand. "I'm Christine Daae, I was told to attend your lecture this morning-"

"Ah, yes," he cut her off, politely shaking her hand. "The headmaster told me to expect you. I'm Professor Bernard, and this is the upper division music theory lecture. Find a seat."

She did as she was told, and once she found a seat further to the front, she pulled out her own laptop to take notes. As the lecture began, she became profoundly grateful that the headmaster had switched her class. She found that she was no longer bored, and while the course material was not out of her depth, it was challenging, and she could no longer absentmindedly zone out in class as she did for her first few days. As she sipped happily on her tea, she became excited to learn, and she found that this improved her mood for the rest of the day. Christine was in constant search of a challenge, and now that she had found one, it gave her mind something else to focus on other than her anxiety.

But, of course, a heavier course load came with a heavier workload. It was a rare occasion that Christine had to force herself to sit down and study, but the material in her new class could not be ignored for long. She found herself having to decline lunch with her friends in favor of her study, but ultimately, she did not seem to mind. She would see them on the weekend, and after all, she had come here to learn.

Four o'clock came much faster than she had originally anticipated. Of course, she was not late, due to the alarm that she had set on her phone earlier in the day, which interrupted her study in the library and called her to him once more. Once she realized it was time for her lesson, she did not feel the usual pang of fear that normally befell her at this time of day. Instead, she still felt nervous, but also strangely excited. She noticed the astounding progress that she was making, and she was beginning to enjoy the feeling of losing herself in the swirl of music for hours on end. It was almost like a dream.

As she walked across campus to the admin building, as per her usual routine, she realized that with the bustle of the day she had completely neglected eating. Strangely enough, she did not feel hungry, and she hoped that the feeling would last until she could eat in the evening. As per usual, she knocked on the door of the headmaster's office right on time, and was invited in.

"Good afternoon, sir," she greeted him politely, which was beginning to become a habit. As per his habit, he was finishing up some work, and he instructed her to sit. She sipped on the tea she brought with her, which served to warm her throat from the cold Autumn air. She took this time to mentally prepare herself for what was to come, for she found that these lessons took all of her strength. Strangely, she would not have it any other way.

"I thought that I would begin -" he caught her attention, and suddenly she realized that he was standing, "- by singing to you again, Christine. It seemed to help last time, but if you would not like me to, say so."

She encountered a bit of conflict, just then, for she did not know what to do. His voice made her feel so strange yesterday, and it frightened her. She nearly lost herself without knowing how, with no knowledge of the passing of time as she drifted lazily on the tide of that voice. She had only heard it once, and yet it became a subject of her inner fascination and wonder… And she wanted to hear it again. Timidly, she assented to his request, and although he had received her consent, he could sense her hesitation. He decided against saying anything to her, simply sitting in the armchair opposite her. He would teach her to not fear his voice.

Christine had some idea of what to expect this time, and therefore it was easier to relax when she was confronted by the astounding majesty of his voice. She closed her eyes, and everything became easier when she did. Instead of putting up a struggle, which she attempted to do yesterday, she simply let him in, to his utter delight. He had no idea why he was doing this to her, but it was too late for him now: he was intoxicated by his own power, which he would exert at every opportunity he was able. His tutelage of her was starting to become his obsession, and he found now that he was desperate to further her progress. If that meant relieving her of her own consciousness, her own fear, then so be it.

She felt, rather than heard, the tendrils of his song snake gently into the recesses of her mind, gripping her like a python would its prey. She wondered innocently if she should be afraid, but quickly there was no room in her mind for fear. In fact, there was no room for thought at all. Her head was quickly made blank by the all consuming power of his overwhelming, yet incredibly calming melody. He had pushed her a little further this time, gently testing the limits of her tolerance for his voice, knowing he needed her awake and attentive for her lesson. Eventually, he found his limit, and before she could slip too deeply under his hold, he stopped, and woke her.

When she opened her eyes, a deep breath of air was enough to rouse her from the trance she was quickly falling into. Waking up was always the hardest part, and it felt like she had to climb out of the very depths of herself to just function. She took a few moments to breathe, and once she regained clarity, she found that she was not uncomfortable. She was relaxed, yet alert, attentive… ready to learn. When he gestured for her to join him at the piano, she did not hesitate. She followed all of his instructions with tranquil obedience, but it not feel like she was forced to do so. Rather, she simply wanted to, and with this temperament, they began the lesson.

While she was in the proper headspace, guided gently by his instruction, she sang rather beautifully. Her tone was clear as a bell, and though she frequently made errors in almost every aspect of her technique, it was nothing that he could not fix. Finally, after days and days of patience, he had her voice right where he wanted it, and he could begin honing her skill. He presented her with a new piece, one that he knew she had not encountered before, and leapt straight into his careful reconstruction of her voice.

If Christine thought he was relentless before, then she had no idea what hit her then. He expected nothing short of perfection, but of course he did not receive it straight away. He was quite brutal in his correction of her, making her go through the same section again and again, until she sang it with no fear, no hesitation. Her technique was heavily scrutinized, nitpicked, and adjusted, and often he stood from the piano, gently adjusting her physically as she sang and noticing the difference it made. He touched her with no more than his fingertips, for no more than mere seconds at a time, but he found that she moved easily and fluidly in response to him merely grazing her.

Above all, after all of the technical correction he stormed her with, he also required her to emotionally perform. Time and time again, he called on her to feel the music, to truly connect with the piece through her own experience. He became increasingly frustrated with her technically adequate, but frankly emotionally dead rendition of the piece, until he could take it no more. He stopped her, emitting a cathartic growl before he corrected her.

"Christine," he sighed, her first name becoming an increasingly important weapon in his arsenal, "it is not enough for you to simply sing the notes. If that were satisfactory, I could have stopped teaching you during your first lesson. You have to feel something. Give me joy, give me pain, give me anything. You cannot truly sing while you are numb."

It was his words that seemed to aid her discovery, and in that moment, she felt anything but numb. Admittedly, she had always shielded herself entirely from the emotion of singing, for it frightened her too much to bear. She was frightened of what it meant to truly feel. But as his words, at his urging, she let a crack form in her expertly crafted defense, allowing for the first time some inkling of her emotion to enter her voice. But this feeling was not quite what Erik expected, for what he could hear in her voice now was pain. Terrifying pain, which threatened to consume her, leaving her vulnerable to a feeling of fatigue that she had never quite encountered before. His voice had left her completely defenseless to the onslaught of emotion that was now tearing her apart, and it was only when she finished singing that he realized that she was trembling. Finally, after days of pushing, he had pushed too far.

"Sit," he commanded suddenly, gesturing to the leather sofa behind her.

She immediately did as she was told, sinking into the sofa as her legs failed to support her any longer. Her face had turned from pale to white, and her breathing grew shallower and shallower, until it scarcely looked like she was breathing at all. Tears threatened to fall down her cheeks, but she had no idea why. She was lost in the turmoil of overwhelming emotion, yet incredible numbness at the same time. Erik knew this feeling all too well, but she, of course, was not coping with it as well as he had hoped.

"Breathe, Christine." His voice carried effortlessly to her, and in this instance, her name was not used as a means to an end. "If you allow yourself to cry, you will feel better."

She could feel the tears threatening to engulf her at any moment, but they confused her so. In all the emotion she felt, not one of them pointed to sadness. Was it possible to cry from panic, from fear, from numbness? She did not know, but the gentle voice that floated to her through the pain seemed to.

"Do not fight it," he urged her softly, hoping to get her to the other side of her revelation without harm. "It will only hurt more. Allow yourself to feel it, allow yourself release. It will be over faster that way."

She took his guidance to heart, for at the moment it was the only way she could see herself through this alive. With his insistence, feeling the pain of her resistance, she finally allowed herself to cry.

She leaned her elbows on her knees, resting her head in her hands as she succumbed to the tears. She was not a loud crier, and the only sound she made was the sigh of her trembling breath as the tears fell freely down her cheeks. She did not know how long she cried, for it could be five minutes or five years for all she knew. She lost herself for a while, not in sadness, but in the panic of finally allowing herself to truly feel something. Mercifully, as her terror subsided, so did the tears, and as she finally calmed she became aware of Dr. Carriere offering her a tissue. She took it gratefully, wiping her eyes as she became increasingly embarrassed of her condition in front of him. When she looked up, she found him sitting across from her, staring at her intently.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, and mercifully her episode did not seem to affect her voice.

"There is nothing to apologize for," Erik reassured her. "I have been expecting this for quite some time. You see, Christine, you have not allowed yourself to feel, truly feel, in quite a long time. Music is an inherently vulnerable profession, although most who delve into the craft do not realize it. Only the most devoted musicians fully immerse themselves into the emotion of their pieces. It is not for the faint of heart - the pure act of doing so would rip most apart. But I can tell that you are amongst the few who can do so, and I would like to continue to teach you how. Do you think you can do this?"

She took a deep breath, taking a moment to hesitate before she nodded. She had spent so long running from what she had longed so much to feel, that the release was actually quite welcome for her. Even in the aftershocks of her outburst, she felt a weight being lifted from her chest, and strangely she was finally able to relax. When it became clear that she was not going to speak, Erik continued.

"Would you like to continue? If you need rest, please feel free to end this now. But there is more I would like to teach you, now that we are at this point."

"No," she replied suddenly, reacting before she even had the mind to do so. "I… I would like to continue, please."

A small, knowing smile tugged momentarily on his lips as he rose to his feet.

"Stand," he instructed, leading her to the piano once more. "Now, Christine, I assume you are religious."

"Catholic," she replied softly. "How did you know?"

"Lucky guess. In that same vein, I assume that you know your hymns."

"Of course," she murmured, curious to see where this was going.

"Good. I would like to hear you sing the requiem." He played her starting note, eyeing her expectantly. "Keep in mind everything you have just learned, everything you have just felt. Focus."

As he listened to her begin to sing, he sighed softly, for he believed he was finally witnessing a breakthrough.

 _Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine.  
Et lux perpetua luceat eis.  
Te decet hymnus, Deus, in Sion,  
Et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem  
Exaudi orationem meam  
Ad te omnis caro veniet.  
Requiem aeternam dona defunctis, Domine.  
Et lux perpetua luceat eis.  
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine  
Et lux perpetua eis._

He closed his eyes as she continued fluidly through the chant, her voice flowing effortlessly through the notes that came from deep within her memory. From places that she long since denied existed, there came torrents of pain: beautiful, haunting pain. In a move that made him sigh with pride, she allowed it to consume her, but this time, it did not destroy her. She used her own pain to her advantage, pouring every ounce of it into the notes which escaped so wonderfully from her lips. She finished the text, but she felt compelled to continue, ending with a plea.

 _Kyrie eleison,_

 _Christe eleison,_

 _Kyrie eleison._

As she fell silent, she opened her eyes, realizing that she had closed them during the proceedings. When she did, he realized that he had shut his as well, and he took a few more moments to absorb her accomplishment before her had the mind to look at her. She had finally succumbed to her emotion, surrendered to the very essence that gave her voice its beauty. Now, he had the task of helping her bridle that emotion, control the raw power that was surely coursing through her like an inferno. It only took one glance at her to realize it was true. She was burning, burning from the inside out, and if she wanted to survive the flames, she had to control it. He had taken her to the horizons of her consciousness, took her to places that only he knew of. And now, he had to pull her back from the brink.

"Breathe, Christine," he reminded her, watching her slowly simmer down. "Let it dissipate. It will stop."

She stood stock still, actually coming to clutch the music stand in front of her as she fought to compose herself. It certainly was not as bad as her initial episode, but she still struggled to contain the emotion that was spreading like wildfire. She continued to breathe, and soon peace returned to her eyes.

"You will learn to control it," he reassured her, his voice retaining its sternness. "And soon, you will learn to manipulate it, and use it to perform. We have only just begun."

Erik allowed her a moment to breathe and process before he continued.

"But, I have tortured you enough for one day." The unmistakable undercurrent of humor in his tone caused a smile to play at his lips. "You may go, and I will see you tomorrow."

It was another length of time before she had the sense to thank him, and she went to gather her things in preparation to go. He returned to his desk, and although he already bothered her enough for today, an idea just popped into his head.

"I think I will give you the day off tomorrow, actually," he told her, not looking up from his laptop screen. "But, Christine, are you available Saturday morning?"

"Yes, of course," she replied softly, pausing for a moment and looking up to him. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I would like to talk to you someplace outside of this office," he explained in definitive way. "There is still so much that I do not know about you. Do you like coffee?"

"I love coffee," Christine answered affirmatively, though she was rather surprised that the headmaster wanted to have coffee with her.

"Excellent. I will text you details at a later point. For now, have a good night." His voice returned to its usual, stern quality, his eyes glued to the screen in front of him as he waited for her to go.

"Goodnight, Dr. Carriere."


	7. Chapter 7

Christine's day off accomplished everything that Erik hoped for. She was given a chance to rest her voice and her body, which was greatly needed after days and days of lessons with the most difficult teacher she's ever had. She had the time to catch up on her studies, which she utilized to get ahead on the homework that she knew would neglected otherwise. Most of all, she had the space to emotionally recover from the very taxing experience, which prevented her from completely burning out. In fact, the time away actually made her more anxious to sing again, renewing her voice and her spirit for when she would have to return to lessons.

Christine attended her lectures and attended to her schoolwork that morning, and she was quite grateful that she could spend her afternoon reading and relaxing. She had been constantly busy all week, and it was nice to be able to rest. She took the time to visit the school library, after which she ventured out onto one of the many lawns to lean against a tree with a book and a cup of tea.

A little way through her reading, Christine felt the buzzing of her phone in her pocket, which she glanced at absentmindedly. She did a small double-take once she realized who it was, knowing she had to answer.

"I hope you are enjoying your day off. Below is the address to a good cafe I know, is 10 AM tomorrow a good time?" So authoritative, even over text.

It wasn't until Christine looked at the address of Erik's favorite cafe that she nearly choked on her sip of tea. It was the cafe she used to work for before she came to school. But of course, this was no reason that they shouldn't go there.

"That sounds great. Thank you." Such manners, even over text.

After a few moments, she saw that he had read it.

Christine was up earlier than she needed to be the next morning. She knew full well that she could go back to sleep, but admittedly she was too excited with nervous anticipation to do so. Of course, it was just coffee. Well… coffee with the headmaster. What would they talk about? Why did he want to meet outside of his office? Why did he want to know her better? All of these questions, and more, floated through her head as she got dressed and wrestled with her hair, which she decided would be braided again neatly in order to avoid the mess that would be helmet hair. She had not touched her bike since she came to campus, for she really didn't feel the need to, but now it acted as a reliable source of transportation to somewhere too far to walk.

The cool morning air served to both calm her and invigorate her on her way to the cafe, the way to which she knew very well. She was right on the edge of the city, and the feel of the streets became more suburban with each passing intersection. Her heart was pounding in her chest when she finally arrived, locking her bike to a nearby rack before entering the hustle and bustle that was a Paris cafe in the morning. Of course, it did not take her long to be recognized.

"Ci-ci!" A girl squealed from behind the counter, abandoning her post in order to tackle her friend in a huge hug. Christine smiled, a little dazed, but immediately recognized the voice as her best friend from high school, Clara.

"Clara!" Christine greeted her back, returning the hug with the same excitement. "How have you been?"

"Well I'd be better if you'd freaking text me!" Clara admonished her, soon returning to her spot behind the counter.

"I know, I'm sorry," Christine apologized, her cheeks reddening at the realization that she'd been ignoring her friend.

Suddenly, Christine became aware of a figure behind her, and she turned quickly to find that Erik was standing in line after her. She almost didn't recognize him. Of course, he still wore his usual dress wear, black trousers and a meticulously pressed dress shirt, but he did not carry the "scary headmaster" demeanor that he always seemed to display. Just a baseline demeanor of authority, which seemed like it would never go away, even in the comforts of a cafe in the morning. And most of all, the mask he wore today was perfectly matched to his skin tone, and the edges seemed to blend smoothly into his own skin. If she did not look closer, she might have not even noticed that he was wearing a mask. After all, no passersby seemed to notice. He seemed younger, carefree… happier.

Christine's moment of thought was interrupted by the joking of her friend behind the counter.

"So, how's hot-shot, super-extra singing school going?" Clara asked with a smirk.

Erik was unable to stifle his own snort of laughter.

"Oh my God, would you stop calling it that?" Christine squeaked back, her cheeks turning an extra dark shade of rose.

"No, Christine, I think that's exactly what it is." Erik's voice sounded from behind her, finally verbally announcing his presence. Both her and Clara turned to look at him, and considering they were the only two in line, he extended his hand to the dazed girl behind the counter. "Dr. Carriere, the headmaster of the hot-shot, super-extra singing school."

Erik allowed Clara a minute to shake his hand, mumbling a few words of polite greeting, before he ordered. As he did so, he noticed Clara mouth a "sorry" to Christine, who was quite mortified.

"A double dry macchiato, if you please." He then looked down to Christine, expecting her to order.

"My usual, Clara," she replied meekly, giving her friend a small smile through the awkwardness of the situation.

"Your usual?" Erik questioned as he paid, looking down to her with a curious expression. "You've been here?"

"Actually, I used to work here."

"Before you came to the hot-shot, super-extra singing school?"

"Yeah," Christine squeaked.

A rather awkward silence enveloped the two on their way to a free table in the corner, which was quite nicely disguised by the business around them. Erik found that he was always more comfortable hiding in plain sight, and a coffee shop seemed the perfect place to do so. He blended in seamlessly, and no one gave him a second glance.

When their orders were called out, Christine volunteered to go get them, and it became clear what her 'usual' was. She gave Erik his macchiato, and for her, a hazelnut latte and a vanilla-almond scone. As he studied her for a moment, he realized that he could not imagine her ordering anything else. He decided to break their silence then, even though it had grown to be quite comfortable.

"So… Ci-ci?" He asked, his eyes shining with humor.

"You heard that?" Christine asked, mortified as she sipped her latte.

"Yes, and I'm wondering if I should begin to call you that now." It was clear that he was joking, a rather rare occasion for him.

"My given name is perfectly fine, thank you, Dr. Carriere."

"I thought as much. The very thought is sickening. So, you used to work here?"

"This summer, yes. I worked mornings, so if you came in the afternoons, that is probably why we never saw each other."

"And your friend? Tell me about her." It surprised Christine that he seemed to be genuinely interested, and the tone of his voice compelled her to answer.

"She is my best friend from high school," Christine explained softly, taking a bite of her scone. "Thank you for the coffee, by the way."

"Not at all. So, does she sing as well?"

"Can't carry a tune in a bucket," Christine replied with a chuckle. Their conversation was beginning to become more friendly, despite everything that separated them. How strange, Erik was beginning to enjoy himself. "Though, she was the one who practically forced me to apply to the Institute. Actually, she dragged me into the choir classroom at lunch one day, and wouldn't let me leave until I'd recorded something to send in."

"Ah. I was wondering where your audition was recorded," Erik mused, sipping his coffee.

"You watched it, sir?" Her eyes widened at this realization, and her cheeks quickly returned to their perpetual state of blush.

"Of course. I carefully review all of our scholarship recipients. Though, I never predicted that I would be teaching one of them."

Christine didn't respond to this, simply refusing to meet his gaze as she struggled to push the embarrassment out of her mind. He continued, for he had some things he needed to say while she was there.

"Now, for why I brought you here," he stated plainly, setting down his cup. "I have a few items of business to sort out with you, and I figured we could do so without being holed up in my office."

She looked up to him then, and when he knew that he had her attention, he continued.

"The Conservatory Chamber Choir is a highly prestigious choral group on campus, and I have been made aware that there is a vacancy in the soprano section. Rather than go through all the trouble of re-auditioning this early in the year, I have volunteered you for the position."

Christine, rather unabashedly, went a little slack-jawed then. Of course she had heard of the Chamber Choir, she had even been to a few of their concerts. They were notorious for being the most selective choir on campus, and they were amazing.

"No one gets into that choir," she murmured to herself, still quite in shock.

"Well, you did. Their first rehearsal is in a few weeks, and upon checking your schedule, you are vacant. I expect you to be there."

"Do you think that I am ready?"

"You still have a lot of work ahead of you, but the position will help you further your vocal experience. It is the right decision."

She nodded in response to his instructions, but she still had doubts. After all, it was only so easy for her to completely embarrass herself, she knew. But she would try, of course. She didn't have much of a choice.

"Now, for the real business." Erik watched her take a sip of her latte, nonchalantly copying her action. "In the next month, I have been… forced to attend a gala hosted by the Opera Garnier. Being the owner and headmaster of the most prominent conservatory in France, I have been asked to select a student of promise to give a performance to the audience that night. You were quite the obvious choice."

And that was the moment Christine's heart stopped. Erik, disregarding her look of pure shock, continued nonchalantly.

"It will be required of you to sing a small repertoire, so I will select the pieces that I think suit your voice best, and we will rehearse them over the next few weeks. This performance will give me a clear idea of what I need to teach you for the future, and while I am expecting you to be good, I am not expecting perfection. Admittedly, the audience you will be singing for does not share my high standards."

He looked directly into her eyes then, urging her to say something, anything that would relieve the frustration impending on his chest. Thankfully, she could manage a small stammer.

"I… I…" She struggled to form words, which at that very moment, were mercilessly evading her.

"Hush," he cut her off, hoping to calm her at least a little. "The decision has been made, and you will be singing. I have no doubt you will be excellent, if you continue your studies with rigor and attentiveness."

She nodded, quite numbly due to the shock, but eventually she noticed something that served to distract her from her growing panic. Rain, light at first, but eventually reaching thunderous levels against the windows of the cafe.

"Damn," she muttered under her breath. "I have to ride my bike back in the rain, splendid."

He merely raised an eyebrow at her, realizing quickly that she could not see it.

"You biked here?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, if I would have known, I would have chosen somewhere closer."

"It's fine, truly. The ride was fifteen, twenty minutes max. And it was nice coming here, but it's not going to be as fun going back."

"You are not biking in the rain. I will drive you back."

She flushed a little at this, her eyes drifting down towards the remains of her latte. "I couldn't ask you to do that."

"Of course you can." His voice became quite stern now, though it did not convey any anger. "It would be quite inconvenient for me if you were to fall ill. Although… I had quite liked to hear you sing today."

She took a moment to swallow the last bite of her scone before she replied in the affirmative.

"I don't have anything to do today, so that can definitely be arranged."

"Excellent." He hesitated a moment before he continued, carefully calculating his words. "If you would feel more comfortable doing so, we could return to my office on campus. If it does not matter to you either way, then my apartment is not too far from here, and it would be much more comfortable, and warmer."

Christine looked at him in surprise for a moment, weighing her options. Returning to his office definitely made her feel safer, but why? It was the weekend, no one would be there anyway. Besides, he has never been anything but hospitable to her, so why would he break her trust now? And the thought of a warm room on such a cold day was enough to convince her.

"Wherever is fine with me, Dr. Carriere."

His eyes shone with a gentle fondness that had never touched another soul… Well, besides his cat. Her assent was all his confidence needed, and a few moments later he stood from his chair, gesturing for her to do the same. Just as they were about to leave, Christine heard a small voice call behind her, making her blush.

"Bye, Ci-ci!"

She turned, smiling a little and calling a soft "Bye, Clara!" before she left.

The rain was coming down in sheets now, and she turned up her hood against the downpour, but it was no use. Christine went to get her bike, but she was swiftly pulled away in the other direction.

"I have already sent someone to get it for you, and deposit it in your room on campus." A firm voice sounded from beside her.

"Sent someone?"

"One of my security team. Nevermind that now."

He abruptly stopped, pulling a set of keys from his pocket and pressing a button on the key fob. Suddenly, Christine looked as the black Mercedes next to them unlocked. Her eyes nearly fell out of her head, but she did not have the time to dwell on the luxury of his car before the rain forced her inside. She had only been outside for maybe a minute, but she was shivering. Erik turned on the engine and then the heat, waiting for a minute before pulling onto the road.

The drive was passed in comfortable silence, and soon the heat from the car brought Christine back from the brink of hypothermia. Now that she was not shivering, she was able to pay more attention to where they were going. They were driving towards the heart of the city, and Christine silently watched the buildings pass, historical in all their glory, as he drove. She did not get enough chances anymore to admire the beauty of this city.

It was not long until Erik pulled into a valet parking lot in the underground level of what was assumed to be an apartment building. He pulled in, rolling down his window and lazily handing the keys to the valet driver before getting out of his car. Christine was startled out of her complacency by him opening her door, as if urging her to get out. She mumbled an apology as she clambered out of the car, following him silently into the lobby of the apartment building.

It was luxurious: all marble and tile, white light emitting from strategically placed fixtures, including an ornate glass chandelier in the center of the high ceilings. This place could double as a ballroom, and it did, frequently. Christine took a moment to take in her surroundings, which had all become very mundane to the man standing next to her. After all, he saw this lobby every day, was surrounded by the splendor of it every day. It was plain to him now, a small reminder of the material wealth which he owned. He lead her nonchalantly to an elevator, and upon entering he pressed the button for the top floor. Oh, perhaps he just wants to show me the view, Christine thought innocently. Of course, she was wrong.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: I just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone for such amazing reviews! Interacting with you all and getting your thoughts on this story has been such a pleasure. As a reward for all of YOUR hard work, you guys get a bonus chapter! Enjoy!**

The penthouse suite took up the entire top floor of the apartment building, which was a great expanse indeed. Everything consisted of shades of clean white and grey, and floor-to-ceiling glass windows provided a gorgeous view of the Paris skyline. Christine, once again, looked around in awe, soon turning to the man who was putting a tea kettle on the stove.

"You live here?" She asked, rather dumbstruck. She then realized that her question could be considered quite rude, but she did not think of that right now.

"Of course," he replied, his voice ringing with all of the velvety baritone softness that she remembered. "I am not quite a fan of breaking and entering." Oh, humor.

"I'm sorry," her voice rang timidly throughout the spacious living area, "I didn't mean to assume…"

"Do not apologize. It's all right." How strange that his voice could be stern yet reassuring at the same time. "Do you have a tea preference?"

"Herbal, if you have it. If not, anything is fine with me."

She watched him with a calm curiosity, coming to sit on one of the stools lining the counter as he pulled things from his cabinets. Soon, the scent of steeping chamomile flooded the kitchen, and a cup was presented to her. She thanked him softly, bringing the cup to her lips and admiring the aroma for a moment before sipping.

As she enjoyed her cup of tea, Erik disappeared down the hallway, returning shortly with stacks of paper in his arms. He set down the stack on the coffee table, Christine again watching him with a calm curiosity as he leafed through the pages. Unable to help herself, she soon approached him, coming to sit on the leather sofa beside where he stood. The furniture was arranged around a fireplace, made from clean cut stone and marble, which he offered to light for her after he found what he was looking for. Normally, she would say something like _don't put yourself through the trouble_ or _if you wish_ , but strangely all that came from her mouth was a _yes, please_. After she was enveloped by the comforting warmth of the electric fireplace, he spoke to her.

"I have a few pieces here that are good contenders for the performance. Once you are ready, I will have you sing them."

She nodded, but a silence enveloped the two as he realized that she was lost in thought. He gathered his music as he gazed at her, and as she continued her silence, he became quite concerned.

"A penny for your thoughts, Christine?"

Christine looked up to him then, taking a sip of her tea for courage before she confided in him.

"Why did you choose me… for this?"

"Well, you were quite the obvious choice," he explained nonchalantly, a hint of reassurance in his tone. "I am teaching you, which means I can rehearse your repertoire before you perform in front of all of my colleagues. Besides, I have to listen to this performance as well, and you are the least painful option." Humor, always his strong suit.

She nodded, taking a deep breath and returning to her tea. She was keeping something from him, he could tell quite easily, and he was determined to find out what.

"Christine." Her name, that one word, spoken with such intention and power, was enough to make her spill it.

"I'm not good enough for this." The words fell out of her mouth before she even had the chance to fight them off. "For any of this. The performance, the spot in the choir… for the lessons. I don't even know why I'm here, to be honest…"

Her eyes, now downcast, filled with tears at her confession, and with all the strength she could muster she tried not to cry. It seemed she had tears in abundance these past few days, as the waterfall of her emotion could not be contained once it had been spurred. She was lost in herself for a moment, lost in the feeling on inadequacy, until she was brought back by the feeling of a gentle finger underneath her chin. Tenderly, her head was pulled up, until her eyes were forced to gaze up at the man who addressed her.

"Look at me." His voice was the embodiment of serenity, and the thing that pulled her back to reality. He held her chin there, delicately, as he reassured her. "You are, in no way, inadequate. Despite how it may seem during our lessons, I derive no higher joy than when I hear you sing. Once I am finished with you, you will astonish the world."

His words held her transfixed, pulling her into a daze of their own creation, spiraling and swirling in her head until they banished all doubt from her mind. Where there was panic and fear in her eyes just a moment before, there was now calm, and once he was quite satisfied with her tranquility, he released her chin.

"Good girl. Now come, we have work to do."

Christine nodded, still a little bewildered as she stood from the sofa. She felt like a fawn on new legs, but once she gained her stability, she followed Erik deeper into his home. The area with the sofas and the fireplace opened into a vast, cavernous living area, complete with high ceilings adorned with modern light fixtures. Clean, natural light also spilled into the space from the large windows, shining beautifully on a sleek black grand piano. As she was led to this spot, he approached a place where a violin hung on the wall, adorning the white with its deep, rich mahogany. Underneath this, there was a music stand, which he retrieved and set in front of her. Soon, there were pages of music, and the sound of the piano flooded the room as he quickly plunged her into the introduction of the piece.

When she sang then, she hardly knew herself, but with a quick glance up at her teacher she knew he was pleased. She did not sing to impress him, then, as she attempted to during their first lesson. No, now she sang for the beauty of singing, and to the best of her ability, sang with the emotion that was threatening to spill from her soul like a waterfall. She was still timid in this endeavor, and the emotion that she conveyed was still raw, and unrefined. But it was progress, and he did not hinder the steps she was taking. He allowed her to finish, mostly because this was her warmup, before correcting her.

There lesson seemed to fly by and go on without end all at once. Lost in the majestic swirl of music which enveloped them, time seemed to stand still, and did not matter anymore. Now in the comfort of his own home, Erik taught her with a vigor that he did not know he could wield, the power coursing through his veins intoxicating him through the flowing notes of her song. In the haze of the music, however, there was still an amazing presence of productivity. They chose the pieces that she was to sing for the gala, decided their order, and began the tedious process of rehearsing them and cleaning them. As always, she was an amazingly diligent student, which made correcting her much easier as time went on. The only mark of the passage of the hours was when Christine's phone rang. She cursed under her breath, as she forgot to silence it before they began. What was even worse was that she recognized the ringtone: it was her grandmother. Seeing the panicked look in her eyes, Erik waved her off kindly to go answer, although he admitted he was a little annoyed. His frustration stopped in its tracks when he realized who was on the other end of that call, though.

"Hi Mamma," she greeted kindly, sitting on the edge of the sofa quickly. "Yes, we're still on for lunch at three today…" He checked his watch, it was two o'clock. "Yes, I'll be sleeping there tonight, I've missed you… Sorry, Mamma, I'm a little busy right now… Yeah, I'm fine… Yes, I'll call you back when I'm free… Yeah, sounds great… Okay, I love you, bye."

She hung up the phone, deliberately not silencing it before she stowed it in her bag again. She returned to her teacher quickly, her face a little red as she realized that he was owed an explanation.

"My grandmother," she explained timidly. "We're having lunch in an hour, I forgot… It seemed like an eternity since we'd made those plans."

"Not to worry," Erik replied, his hands still resting against the piano keys. "We were just about done anyway. We will finish up, and then I can take you home, if you want."

"Thank you… You don't need to do that, if you're busy. I can just as easily call an Uber." She was a little embarrassed of her lack of transportation, especially because she didn't have her bike. She wondered who was getting it for her.

"I would much rather you get home safe." He replied sternly, though he was nothing but kind. A strange silence wrapped around the two for a moment, and Erik could see that she had questions, things that she was keeping from him. Though, without having to be prompted this time, she spoke.

"Dr. Carriere?" He looked up to her to assure her that he was listening. "I know I signed an NDA… But can I tell her? It seems a little wrong to leave her in the dark, and… well…"

"Of course," he replied, without hesitation, which seemed to surprise her. "The NDA was more specific to you gossiping to the entire school. Your grandmother is not a concern."

She thanked him, though she was unaware of the thoughts in his head during the length of silence that enveloped them. Of course, logically, Christine telling her grandmother about this arrangement was a good thing. Transparency was always key to situations like this, and the last thing he wanted was for her guardian to think this was something it was not. Even still, his fear of people was all too strong, and he wondered what his pupil was going to tell. Once again, he had to trust, which was not easy for him. To distract him from the growing sense of panic seizing his chest, he decided to finish up their lesson.

"Nevermind that now, Christine. I would like you to run through this piece one more time before you go."

She did so happily, and for the first time during their lesson, he saw a glimmer of something that was stage-ready. He breathed a silent sigh of relief, for he was beginning to worry, but there was hope for her yet. Of course, he never once doubted her ability, but there was much more that goes into performing than being technically correct. There was still much he had to teach her, though that did not mean that her voice was not an absolute delight to listen to now.

He found himself strangely sad when she fell silent, knowing she had to leave but impossibly wanting more. Either way, he stood from the piano, gesturing to her to follow him as he prepared to leave. She thanked him for the lesson, as always, retrieving her bag before they both passed through the front door.

Soon, after a quick elevator ride and a few strides through the ornate lobby, they were sitting in the black Mercedes once more. To guard against the persistent, cold drizzle, the windows stayed up and the heat went on, bathing the interior of the car in a warm glow. As he pulled out of the parking garage, broke the silence, looking to her for a moment before his eyes went back to the road.

"Where do you live, Christine?"

She quickly gave him her address, which he quickly inputted into his car GPS. As it gave him directions on where to go and which streets to turn on, Christine's phone rang again. She looked to him apologetically before picking up.

"Hi, Mamma… No, you don't need to come get me… Yeah, I'm getting a ride… From a friend, Mamma…" This reply nearly made his heart leap out of his chest. "Yeah, I'll tell you about it over lunch… Okay, I'll see you then… Yes, I've been staying out of the rain… Love you, bye."

Christine stowed her phone in her bag once more, looking out the window before Erik had the nerve to say anything.

"Quite the protective guardian you have there, Christine."

"Yeah," Christine replied, feigning annoyance. "She hasn't _not_ seen me in a week for years, not since I moved in…"

"And when was that?" He asked, curiously. He knew her voice like the back of his own hand, but her life? That he was ignorant on, which frustrated him.

"About ten years ago now. My father died, I was seven."

This was not the answer he was expecting. "Christine, I am so…"

"It's fine," she reassured him, recognizing the fear of her response in his voice. "I miss him, but it doesn't hurt so much now. He's buried in Sweden, so I haven't gotten to see him since Mamma and I visited years back."

"I'm sorry, that must be difficult for you." Sympathy was not his normal route, but he could not help the softness of his voice.

"I might go this Christmas, if we have the money for tickets. But plane fare its sky high that time of year."

This was yet another dagger through his heart. "I wish you luck in that endeavor, then."

She thanked him, quite absent-minded now as she formulated her next question. "Dr. Carriere?"

"Yes?"

"How old are you?"

Now this was an excellent question. "Um… thirty-three is I remember correctly. I haven't counted in a while."

"What do you mean, _I haven't counted in a while_?" Christine questioned, quite curious.

"Being an adult makes all the years grow together. I turned eighteen, found I was able to do what I wanted, and stopped counting."

"That's very strange." _But then again, what about her strange teacher wasn't?_

"I suppose. But then again, being normal has never been my forte." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, anxious to get off of the subject. "So, Christine, you lived in Sweden for a time?"

"Yes, I was born there, and I lived there with my father until he died."

"So, I assume you can speak, then?" A smile pulled at his lips as he watched her face drop. His reply was spoken in fluent Swedish.

She spent a few moments in shock at what she just heard, before a stupid grin spread across her face. When she replied, Erik nearly signed at the beauty of her native tongue on her voice. "Yes, of course. Not a lot of people in France can, I've found.

He continued on in the same language upon seeing how happy it made her. "It's a beautiful language, although it's not the one I'm most comfortable in. I think I should prefer French when I am teaching you."

"How many languages do you know?"

"Seven," he explained nonchalantly. "French, English, Spanish, German, Italian, Farsi, and Swedish. And how many for you?"

"Five. Swedish, French, English, Italian, Spanish."

"We will have to get that number to six, then. German is an essential."

She nodded nonchalantly at this, Erik still slightly reeling at her language count. It is not every day that you find someone who knows so many, even in Europe. Perhaps he could teach her two more, and they would become equals. The thought felt rather nice, but he kept it to himself as he made pleasant conversation for the rest of the drive. Soon, too soon, though, he was instructed to stop in front of a modest, but pretty house, made from brick and stone, on the street of a suburban village immediately surrounding Paris. She got out of the car, quickly grabbing her bag and peering down at him in the car.

"Thanks for the ride, Dr. Carriere."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: This is kind of a filler chapter, but it had to be here to provide context for the next chapter, which I promise will be more interesting! Enjoy!**

"Thanks for the ride, Dr. Carriere."

He nodded in acknowledgement, and once she shut his car door, he drove away. After she watched him leave, she ascended the little path that led to her house, and she almost had the urge to knock before she remembered that it was her house. So much has changed since she was last here. She found the door unlocked, and she announced her presence once she was inside.

"Mamma, I'm ho-"

She was cut off by her grandmother pulling her swiftly into a tight hug, cooing to her all the same.

"Christine, I'm so glad you're home! I missed you, my dear." She sighed, running her fingers through her granddaughter's hair. "Come into the kitchen. I'm making soup for lunch, and you can tell me everything that happened in your first week!"

Where would she even start? So much has happened that it feels like the week has lasted an eternity. Her grandmother already had a cup of tea waiting for her, which Christine absentmindedly thanked her for as she sat down. She started off with the easy topics of conversation, which were easier to explain.

"My roommate is very sweet, and she's introduced me to a lot of great friends. We went out for dinner a few days ago."

"That's great, sweetie!"

"Yeah, and my classes are amazing. I tested out of the beginner's music theory, so now I'm in advanced."

"I knew you would do wonderful. Never once have I doubted you, my dear."

Soon, they were both seated in the dining room with bowls of hot soup, served with fresh, warm bread to dip. If there was one thing her grandmother could do well, it was cook. If there was one thing Christine could do well, it was eat. Before she did anything else, she tucked into the wonderful tomato bisque, savoring it for a moment before anything else mattered.

"Mamma… I need to tell you something. Important."

The woman looked up from her soup, looking to her granddaughter and quickly swallowing. She urged her to speak, knowing by Christine's expression that whatever it was, it was big.

"I… I've been talking to the headmaster, Dr. Carriere."

"Oh?" Quickly, Mamma Valerius's face was draining of color. This could be very good, or very bad. After all, Christine had that rebellious phase a few years back...

"He's been personally teaching me."

Oh, thank the Lord. This was better than good. Before Mamma could get a word in edgewise, Christine was spilling everything. Oh, how it felt good to tell someone.

"Mamma, he's a genius… I barely recognize myself when I sing now, and it's only been a few days. When I sing, it feels like I'm walking on air… And what's more, he's sung for me a few times… His voice… It's like nothing I've ever heard before."

The grandmother simply watched her ramble on and on about her teacher, still bewildered at the situation at hand. Suddenly, a smile lit up Mamma Valerius's face, making Christine wonder why.

"When I am gone, I will send an Angel of Music to you."

"What…?" Christine sighed, growing confused.

"Those were your father's last words to you, before he died. Heavens, you were so young that you probably do not remember them. Of course, prayers never do get answered in the most common of ways."

Christine was searching her guardian's eyes for more information, for something more, but the old woman stayed silent for a time. Then, came her questions.

"But, my child, tell me truthfully… Are you safe?"

"Yes, of course, Mamma. I have never felt unsafe with him."

"And do you trust him?"

"... Yes, I think I do. I really do."

Mamma sighed a little, taking a moment to think before nodding.

"All right, and I trust you. And Christine, I cannot tell you how proud I am of you. Truly."

"Thank you, Mamma. I also have one other thing to tell you."

There was a brief pause, leaving Mamma in agony with anticipation. Finally, Christine showed her mercy.

"He, uh… He has to attend a gala, at the Opera Garnier… And… He had to choose a student to bring with him, to perform to his colleagues. Mamma… He chose me."

"Oh Heavens, Christine…" A hand flew to the woman's mouth, stifling a shocked, but very happy sob. "Child… I always knew you would do wonderful things."

Christine thanked her guardian, a few tears threatening her eyes as well. She was unable to believe what was happening to her either, and she wondered what she had done to deserve this. She was not perfect, although Dr. Carriere constantly assured her that she would get there. Eventually.

Above all things she was grateful for, Christine was thankful for sleeping in her own bed that night. After her eventful, rather life-changing week, some familiarity and comfort was all she needed to feel more like herself. She was grateful that her grandmother had allowed her to sleep in, insisting that they would go to evening Mass that day instead. By the time Christine had the mind to open her eyes, it was ten-thirty, and the only thing that woke her up was the soft buzzing of her phone under her pillow. She had a text.

The wonderful smell of pancakes pulled Christine from her bed, and she sleepily checked her texts as she made her way downstairs into the kitchen. When she realized who had texted her, she became a little lost in thought despite her grandmother greeting her good morning.

His text read, "We do not have a lot of time until the performance, and I was hoping to further your rehearsals. Are you available?"

"Christine?" Her grandmother called, for the third time now. "Who are you talking to?"

"Oh!" She gaze a little squeak of surprise as she was brought back to reality. "Dr. Carriere, Mamma… He wants to teach me today, we have less than a month until that performance I told you about."

Mamma Valerius smiled then, flipping a pancake that made a satisfying hiss on the griddle. She already had a cup of tea out for Christine, who sat in front of it with a grateful thank-you.

"That's perfect, Christine. I want to meet this teacher of yours, now. Do you need a ride? Or, he can come here! I'll make lunch."

Christine's eyes widened at her audacity, and her heart pounded in her chest at the thought of inviting her headmaster here. It was a very nice house, she had to admit, and it was perfectly clean. But that, of course, wasn't the problem. It all felt so terribly... personal. Would he appreciate personal? Would he be offended, or think that she was weird? The fact was, she just didn't know.

"I… I don't know if he'd want to do that."

"Well, Christine, there's no harm in asking. And if he says no, I'll give you a ride to wherever he wants to meet. I trust you can take care of yourself."

She nodded numbly at this, realizing that she still had to reply to his text.

"Yes, I'm free today except for in the evening. Mass starts at eight."

"Excellent." His reply came rather quickly, as if he was anticipating her response. "This afternoon, around one, is fine. Are you comfortable with my apartment again?"

Oh God, now she had to ask. She carefully formulated her reply, editing it a few times and reading it over twice before she pressed send.

"Actually, my grandmother is suggesting you come here? I know it's weird, but she wants to meet you, and she can make lunch. She's a great cook, and we have a piano."

Erik read over her response at least three times before he fully understood what he was reading. Go over to her house, sit and make polite conversation with her legal guardian? Of course, he was all for transparency, but the prospect of doing something so… personal, was utterly terrifying. He should say no, he should decline the offer and take her to his place instead. Somewhere where he felt in control, where he could control the variables. But perhaps she will say no, and I really want to hear her sing today. He took a deep breath, weighing his options carefully before he replied. He had to be goal-oriented, he decided. His goal was to teach his student today. Yes, he could bear to go to her house, exchange niceties to her grandmother, if that meant that the woman would trust her enough to teach her child. It was a means to an end, and the end was preparing her for the performance. Yes, he could do that.

"I suppose that could be arranged. Should I bring anything?" Was his curt reply, which shocked Christine to no end. He had said yes.

"No, just yourself. We'll expect you at one, then?" Her answer was just as polite, as if anything otherwise would ruin the moment. Oh my goodness, this was so weird.

"Precisely." After he sent his very short reply, he saw that she read it a few moments later.

"Christine?" Mamma Valerius butted in, serving her a plate of pancakes. "What did he say?"

"Looks like you're making lunch," Christine replied, still a little dazed. Though, she could not help the tiniest smile on her face.

"Oh, great! We haven't had guests in ages," she woman chattered excitedly, starting to think out loud about what she would make. As Christine swallowed her pancakes, she realized with sinking heart that there was another thing she had yet to tell her grandmother.

"Mamma?"

"Yes, dear?"

"There is… something else I haven't told you yet… about him."

Her curiosity was now definitely peaked. "Yes?"

"He… well…" Christine played with her pancakes, choosing her words carefully before she spoke them. It was something that hadn't even occurred to her before now. "He wears a mask, Mamma. I'm only telling you to ask you to not bring it up while he's here. I think it's a sensitive subject."

Now this, Mamma was not expecting.

"Why does he wear a mask?"

"I don't know, and I haven't asked. But really, it doesn't make me trust him any less." She added quickly, knowing her guardian deserved an explanation. She just prayed that the old woman wouldn't make a fuss. "I think it might be because of an injury of some kind. Medical reasons."

Seeing how anxious this made her granddaughter, Mamma asseded. Despite the very protective side of her, she knew that Christine could be trusted on judgement of character, and she decided to have faith. After all, she was going to meet him that afternoon, during which she could decide for herself. "Of course, love. I won't say anything."

"Thank you, Mamma. And the pancakes were delicious. I'm gonna go shower."

Christine brought her cup of tea with her up the stairs, where she became quite thankful for the shower and the time it gave her to think. He was going to be here soon, in two hours to be exact. Again, she was not nervous about the state of her home or anything of the sort, but it did leave her thinking of how personal this meeting was. But, then again, was her not visiting his apartment yesterday not personal? Was there a difference at all? If anything, Christine's house did seem more intimate and cozy compared to Erik's spacious penthouse, but did it matter? Well, she supposed she was about to find out.

To her dismay, she soon discovered that she had brought all of her favorite sweaters to school with her. At this moment, she longed for her favorite cream knit sweater, folded neatly in her dresser in her dorm room. Instead, she settled for leggings and a crew neck sweatshirt, coincidentally one that was screen printed with her high school choir logo. And several sizes too big for her, since she had bought it to sleep in. Perfect.

At the same time, Erik was also preparing for the meeting. Of course, his natural choice of clothing was all black, dress shirt and pants, but there was something else he had to consider. Which mask would he wear? Certainly not the black one, as it would be much too intimidating. The realistic one was good for public spaces, but not for any occasion where people had to look at him for long periods of time. It looked too odd, too fake. And so, with a heavy sigh, he decided on his mask of sleek, white porcelain. After all, it was his only mask that left his mouth and jaw exposed. He could speak freely, and eat freely, which was important considering lunch was to be served. It was the one he wore most often, as it was the most comfortable. He combed back his hair, tying it neatly at the base of his neck before securing the mask around his head. It would have to do, he supposed.

One o'clock came much faster than any of them had anticipated. Christine was in the process of braiding her over-stubborn hair when there was a short, curt knock on the door, but once she was able to get down the stairs, it was too late. Mamma Valerius had already answered the door.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: Hey there again beautiful people! Here's the scene we've all be waiting for: Christine's guardian vs. Christine's teacher! Should be a smack down to remember, right? Actually, no, but keep reading to find out! So, this chapter also serves as more of an introduction to Mamma Valerius as a character, and sets up her interactions with Erik in the future. This is a really important chapter, and one that I had a lot of fun writing! Enjoy!**

Mamma Valerius had already answered the door. Standing on the bottom step, Christine was able to look out her front door to her teacher on her front porch, and her grandmother greeting the headmaster. True to her word, the woman did not miss a beat.

"Dr. Carriere!" Mamma Valerius greeted him warmly, opening the door a little wider as an invitation. "Please, come in."

Never in his life had Erik been greeted by someone so warmly, especially not a person of her age. For a moment, he had to remember his manners, nodding his head a little before he stepped inside. This was going to be an odd experience, indeed.

"Madame," he greeted her gently, his smooth baritone voice like velvet to her ears.

"Maria, please," she replied jovially, though the beauty of his speaking voice sent her eyes a little hazy. She called Christine's name before she had a chance to turn around, surprised and a little embarrassed when her granddaughter was a mere few meters behind her. That child was always too quiet during the least convenient times.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Carriere," Christine greeted him with a small smile, though her cheeks burned a little at her grandmother's greeting.

"Good afternoon, Christine," he returned, feeling quite out of place as he continued. "I brought wine, though I didn't know what you were making, Madame, so I went for a white."

"Well, luckily for us, I went with pasta, so the white will be fantastic," Maria reassured him gratefully. "Thank you very much, I'll set it in the fridge."

As she went to the kitchen with the bottle, she continued speaking, urging Erik and Christine to follow her. There, they both realized that lunch was just beginning to be cooked, so this was a perfect time to begin Christine's lesson.

"Lunch will probably be another hour," Maria explained kindly while her head was stuck in the fridge. "The piano is in the living room, and I'll bring tea once the water boils."

"Thank you, Mamma," Christine's voice floated throughout the room as she lead the way to the living room.

"Thank you, Madame," Erik replied politely, following his pupil in a rather stiff manner.

"Maria," the woman corrected playfully, pulling ingredients from the fridge to start preparing lunch.

Erik trailed after Christine into the living room, surprised to find a black baby grand tucked neatly in the corner. It was on the older side, but once he sat on the bench and gingerly played a note, he found it to be perfectly in tune. Christine, seeing his surprise, found the need to explain.

"It's been passed down in the family for a while now," she mused, grazing her fingertips over the polished surface of the piano. "I'm the only one who plays it now, but we do get it regularly maintained."

"It's beautiful, Christine. You will have to play for me sometime, but for now, we must rehearse." In order to push the last strands of discomfort from his mind, he turned entirely to the task at hand, for he found that leaping into his work was an excellent coping mechanism.

Christine did not have much time to think before she was pulled straight into warmups, and despite her grandmother listening in the next room, she tried to proceed with as little fear as possible. After all, as much as Christine sought her guardian's approval, she was still her grandmother. She forced the doubts from her mind as she became focused on the task at hand, which was preparing for the performance that was only a few short weeks away. Erik allowed her a few measures to be nervous before she grew out of it, and under his careful instruction, she soon was singing like it was only the two of them.

"Very good, Christine." This was one of the few times that he praised her, but he figured that if she ever needed reassurance, it was now. "Your range is coming in nicely, and expanding. We'll start with this piece first…"

He indicated which piece he was referring to, and from the folder that she brought from her room, she pulled out her own copy. As always, Erik had her sing it all the way through it first before he made corrections, a move that generally made her feel more comfortable with the music she was singing. By this time, he had enough experience with her to know how she learned, where her strengths and weaknesses lay, and what techniques worked best for her. Although he was always a proponent of strict correction and discipline, he could tell now that he needed to be a little gentler, especially in the presence of her guardian.

"More forward in the mouth, Christine… There, that's better. Watch your control."

Despite the room's small size, Erik found that it had quite good acoustics, which was fortunate to gauge her technique and her coloring. Despite the mistakes that he had to correct here and there, she generally sounded quite good, and she was beginning to integrate more feeling into her words and phrases. She was improving quickly, and while they still had much to do over the coming weeks, she was becoming more and more performance ready. Without either of them realizing, Maria had left her cooking in the kitchen, coming to stand in the doorway between the living room and kitchen with a curious, fond expression. In her opinion, she never heard enough of her granddaughter's singing, but there was something different this time. As she listened, she heard Christine's voice flow with explicable beauty, with a wonderful grace that she had not quite mastered before. These were small, but significant improvements, and they made all the difference.

Once Christine finished, she was the first to notice her quiet audience member, her cheeks going red as Erik turned to her grandmother curiously. It took a little while longer for Mamma to snap from her daze, looking a little embarrassed once she had been caught in the act.

"Sorry," she admonished herself with a little chuckle.

"No, not at all." Erik's voice, overflowing with soft, swirling influence, was sufficient to keep Maria in place. "You may stay."

Almost mindlessly, Mamma went to take a seat on the comfortable, plush sofa in the living room, in front of the fireplace. She reclined, rather happily, as Christine watched her, knowing all too well how she felt. There was an almost irresistible quality to Erik's voice, that seemingly no one could shake or disobey. Though, as much as she thought it should be, it was in no way frightening. The last thing the voice seemed was threatening. Only warm, gently lilting, positively intoxicating.

Quickly afterward, Christine was prompted to begin singing again. Her grandmother simply sat and listened for a while, until the soft beeping of the timer for the pasta motivated her to return to the kitchen. She left the pair alone together once again, grateful for the beautiful serenade she was receiving while she cooked. If anything, the sound of her granddaughter's voice and the gentle instruction of that gorgeous voice made her trust the masked man completely, even if this was not his aim. Soon, the house was filled with the wonderful, savory aroma of spaghetti bolognese, and to Erik's surprise, he felt his appetite spike for the first time in days. And, he thought triumphantly, the wine he picked would go wonderfully with the dish. Standing in the doorway once again, Mamma let Christine finish her current run-through of the piece they were working on before she interrupted. At this point, Christine was quite grateful to stop, for she was beginning to grow tired, and needed a break. And food, she realized at the growing emptiness of her stomach.

"Lunch is ready in the dining room," she replied kindly, disappearing into the kitchen once more and expecting Christine to lead the way for their guest.

Once they were seated in the dining room, Erik more apprehensively than the others, they could look at the wonderful spread before them. A dish of spaghetti was in the center, coupled with a separate dish of wonderful-smelling meat sauce. Under a kitchen towel was a warm loaf of freshly baked bread, and beside that was a salad bowl with chopped greens. Maria went quickly to fetch wine glasses and the bottle, coming back and setting glasses at each setting.

"Wine, dear?" She asked sweetly, and it was clear that she was speaking to Christine.

"Please," she replied back gratefully, already beginning to serve herself. After all, she was quite hungry.

"Alcohol, Christine?" He questioned, resuming momentarily the role of the perfectionist teacher. "In the middle of a lesson?"

His comment made her freeze, as she remembered that she was going to need to sing after lunch as well. She rethought her decision, making a smile tug on the corners of his mouth when she changed her mind.

"Actually, I'll stick with water. Thanks, Mamma."

Erik watched Christine fix her plate for a few moments, thinking to himself that this was the first time he had eaten a meal with her. Despite the intimacy of such an activity, Erik was quite pleased to see that Christine did not lack an appetite. He knew it was customary for many girls to routinely starve themselves in pursuit of a good figure, and he was beginning to worry if this was why Christine was so slender. He was beginning to worry for her. But, reassuringly for him, she seemed to be a pretty hungry person, and probably took more for herself than he was going to serve himself.

"We're a 'serve yourself' kind of family," Maria explained kindly to Erik as she poured his glass, confirming his suspicion of a family style luncheon. "Help yourself."

"Thank you very much, Madame," a smooth voice replied in return, waiting until they both were done before he served himself. Normally, he would not dare eat anything in front of other people, or engage this comfortably in conversation, but there was a warmness in the house that could not be escaped. This was one of the very rare occasions where Erik was beginning to feel comfortable in a home that was not his own, despite the obvious social barriers.

"Maria," she admonished him softly, with a friendly chuckle. "Christine, dear, you sounded wonderful. Truly."

"Thanks, Mamma," Christine replied after she swallowed the bite she was chewing, her cheeks turning a little red. "There's still a lot to fix, though."

"That's true," Erik chimed in, his voice all silk after a sip of wine. "But nonetheless, you are improving at a rapid pace. I have every confidence that you will be stage-ready by the performance in October."

"Thank you so much for taking the time to teach her," Maria commended him, a soft smile pulling at her lips. Erik glanced away then, needing another sip of wine before he had the courage to reply.

"She is a truly wonderful student, with an exceptional gift," he spoke plainly, but truthfully, and the subject of music made him a bit more comfortable than before. After all, it was his expertise. "Truly, I have never heard a voice with such pure tone, with such little weakness in either register. A voice like that, with so much raw power, simply needs the proper hand to train it. May I ask you, Christine, who was teaching you before?"

So I may hang them, Erik thought to himself.

"I've never really had traditional training, Dr. Carriere," she explained softly after another bite of pasta. "I sang in my high school's Chamber Choir, where I was taught some technicalities by my teacher there. But nothing in-depth, due to the other thirty students in the class."

"But you sounded so… restrained, so restricted." The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he was mentally kicking himself before he heard a response.

"That started after she began high school." Maria was the one to speak now, for she had very vivid memories of Christine's beginning teenage years. Oh God, was the poor lamb painfully awkward. "She wanted to sing in the choir, but she felt that her voice stood out too much. She started to cage it in, around that time."

Christine suddenly looked to her grandmother then, her face fiercely burning. "How did you know that?"

"That was when I stopped hearing you sing in the shower," Maria explained nonchalantly, in her grandmotherly way. "Actually, this morning was the first time I heard you do so in years."

If Christine could be burning any hotter than she was right now, she would spontaneously combust. Erik was busy in thought, putting the pieces of Christine's vocal history together like a captivating puzzle. She trained her voice specifically not to be noticed. Did she have any idea what a gift she possessed, the talent that lay untapped, just underneath her skin? In a strange turn of events, she was the one who made her voice less beautiful, and it all stemmed from her own insecurity in herself. Oh, yes. He did have a lot of work to do.

"Your voice stood out because you are in possession of a perfect natural instrument." Erik's voice was rather stern now, but not for the worse. "Untrained and unrefined, yes, but a perfect instrument. One that, with proper training, can be tuned and adjusted without much effort. Do you understand how rare that is?"

Christine now felt like she was being scolded, and she averted the gaze of both her teacher and her grandmother. Oh, how awkward of a situation this was. Maria, too, could sense the tension, and although it was nowhere near dangerous levels, she decided to pour more wine and change the subject, like a true Frenchwoman.

"So, the performance… what does it entail?"

"The entire event is essentially a source of income for music schools, for it is a gala that connects us to donors," Erik explained, nursing his glass of wine. "There will be an opening assembly, during which it is my job to sweet-talk investors and parade Christine around like she is some bourgeoisie head on a stick." The pure sarcasm in his voice, coupled with his obvious disdain for these events, was enough to make Mamma stifle a snort of laughter. "Then she will go backstage, and I will take a seat in the audience to watch her and other singers from different conservatories sing. I have a feeling that I will be in for a long night. I fully plan on leaving once she is done."

"And what should she wear to said event?" Maria asked, now knowing that they did not have a long time to go shopping if necessary.

"Leave that to me, please," Erik replied, firm but kind. "I have already hired a designer for Christine's wardrobe. The event is black-tie."

An expression of surprise flitted across both Christine and Maria's faces, and they looked to Erik for more of an explanation. He obliged nonchalantly, as if he ran business like this every day. In reality, he did.

"This particular designer has made many of my clothes, and I assure you that he is very good. He will be designing my suit for the event, and giving him the choice of Christine's wardrobe was the obvious choice, so that we could match."

Of course, nothing he said served to bring the attention off of himself, like he had hoped.

"Dr. Carriere, this must be costing you a fortune." Christine spoke now, as she had spent most of the lunch in silence. In her defense, she was really hungry.

"He is worth his price, and there is a reason for doing so. You are representing me, as well as the entire conservatory. And while I have every faith that you can dress yourself, it is much more comfortable for me to control what you wear." His voice became stern then, in his soft, irresistible way, to the point where both women simply nodded in accordance with his plans. It was quite a useful tool for him to weild, in situations like these. "Now, while we are on this subject, is there anything that my designer should now? Preferences, tastes, the like?" He took a sip of his wine, returning to his relaxed demeanor.

"She can't do heels," Maria immediately chimed in with a chuckle. "Poor child, it's like putting a deer on stilts."

"Mamma," Christine breathed, her cheeks burning. Though, her grandmother was perfectly correct. The last time Christine had attempted heels was her high school dance, and it did not end well, she remembered vividly.

"Noted, no heels," Erik replied silkily, a small chuckle emanating from his lips. "We'll go for something flat, which will be easier to sing in anyway."

The rest of lunch was spent in pleasant conversation, much to Erik's surprise. Despite years in the business field, hundreds of lunches and meetings with partners and investors, this was the first time he had truly enjoyed himself. Christine's guardian was truly a wonderful cook, and even better with conversation. Luckily for Erik, she seemed to be in reverie of him the entire time, which helped his cause and his credibility. In all, he could not have seen this going any better, despite the apprehension he had about coming here. Once they were done, Maria stood up to collect the dishes, waving off Erik's offer to help. He followed his pupil into the hallway connecting the kitchen and the living room, and now that they were out of earshot, Christine had a chance to speak.

"Thank you again, sir, for coming. I can tell that she feels a lot better now that she's met you."

"The time and place of our lessons matter little to me, Christine." He returned to his soft, authoritative way of speaking, the professionalism returning to his voice after the rather personal ordeal he just experienced. "And while lunch was lovely, I do need to resume preparing you. The performance will sneak up on you, if you are not careful and you are making good progress."

She thanked her teacher for his rare praise, and soon, the house was filled with the soft melodies of Christine's lesson.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: All right, here we go, you guys! The gala is underway. The gala is going to comprise of a few chapters, which will be posted over the course of the next week. I love keeping my readers in suspense... *evil laugh* Anyway, as always, I hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think by dropping me a review!**

The end of this lesson came quickly. In fact, that entire month seemed to go by in the same fashion. She returned to the academy on Monday, and on campus the days and weeks slipped by in a haze of lessons and preparations, only interrupted by short bursts of lecture, schoolwork, and exams. Somewhere in the middle of the month, Erik's designer paid her a visit at the beginning of their lesson, taking her measurements and asking her more specifically what she liked and did not like. Christine was quite numb to the whole situation, and she answered his questions with a guarded truth that made Erik even more fiercely protective of her emotional state. Even during their lunch, Erik noticed her tense whenever the performance was mentioned, heard her go silent and simply take herself out of the equation. She was clearly terrified of performing for anyone but him, but this was something she needed to outgrow. It was something he must teach her to overcome, lest it ruin his great plans for her.

Christine returned to her grandmother right after her classes ended the Friday before the performance, for she thought it would help to sleep in her own bed and eat breakfast made by her guardian the next day. It did help, a little, but it was nothing against the dread that swelled in her chest like a balloon about to explode. Quite reminiscent of her first weekend home, making her question whether or not any time had passed at all, she was awoken fully by a text from Erik.

"I assume you are staying with your grandmother today. I will be at your home at three o'clock, we will perform vocal warm-ups for an hour, and we will leave by four. I am taking you to a salon, so do not worry about your hair or makeup."

"I'll see you then," was all she could give for a response, as she struggled to eat her pancakes. She normally was starving in the morning, and it concerned Maria to no end when she could barely eat.

"Child, are you feeling alright?" Please, dear God, do not let her be sick.

"Fine, Mamma." From the lack of color in her face and no will to eat, it was very clear to her maternal figure that this was a lie. But, Maria did not argue, knowing this was the last thing that would help at the moment. She simply allowed Christine to return to her bedroom, where it was silent for the next several hours, only punctuated by the light sighs of Christine's shaky breath as she tried to pull herself together.

I can do this, Christine tried to convince herself, in a last ditch attempt to drive the tears away. Dr. Carriere thinks I can do this, so I must be able to, right? At first, this logic seemed quite solid to her, but over the course of the next few minutes there were several chinks discovered in the surface of that armor. She would forget her music, her voice would crack, she would sound awful. There were countless different versions of the same scenario, all overwhelming her at once and clouding her very vision: she would fail. One way or another, by some, predictable reason, something would go wrong, and she would fail. I can't do this. I can't do this. Oh, my goodness, I'm crying…

Mamma grew even more concerned as the hours passed without a sign. No descending down the stairs for something to drink, no requests for something to eat, nothing. Of course, Mamma knew that the best cure for nerves was some space and time, but this became increasingly more difficult the less she heard from her. Eventually, she came to be reassured by the soft pattern of Christine's pacing footsteps, but even those stopped. And what was worse, they seemed to be replaced by stifled crying. That was it, her guardian could take it no more. She was halfway up the stairs when, as if right on time, there was a knock on the door. Thank the Lord, Maria thought as she went to answer it. Perhaps her teacher will talk some sense into her.

As soon as the door was opened, Erik's face drained of color underneath the mask. There was something wrong, he sensed, immediately abandoning propriety and stepping inside. Something wasn't right. And he did not have to wait long to find out what.

"She's… not doing well," Maria warned him, slightly apologetic.

"Is she ill?" His voice was incredibly low, his heart stopping as his greatest fear might be realized. Please, not sick, anything but sick…

"No." Thank God. "But I haven't heard from her all day, I think she's nervous… She hasn't even eaten."

Erik should have predicted this. She has not been herself all week, and it seemed to be getting worse as time moved forward. I should have reassured her more, I should have asked how she was doing… And then, that's when he heard it. His fine-tuned ears caught hold of her voice from upstairs, and he sighed when he heard the sound of panicked, stifled sobbing. He was ripped quickly from the thoughts in his own head, and his only goal now was to get to her as quickly as he could. He did not have much time to get her to something close to stage-ready.

"May I go get her?" Erik asked, once again abandoning his manners. Normally, he would never ask to intrude so greatly into someone's home, especially someone that he had impossibly come to respect. But he had no choice. He felt the same sense of dread rise up in his throat, threatening to cut off his breath and bring him to his knees. And it all stemmed from the doubt of her failure. That had to be dealt with, and quickly.

"Of course," Maria replied softly, choosing to remain at a distance as he scaled the stairs two at a time. If he managed to jolt her from her nervous breakdown, she would be hungry, and wanting tea. And, as always, Mamma would provide her with that gentle comfort.

Erik did not even knock before he opened the door separating him from Christine. Luckily, for both of them, she was decent, and before he noticed her state he was able to catch a glimpse at the rest of the room. The walls were painted ballerina pink, probably reminiscent of the request of the child that lived there years ago. The furniture was dark, polished wood, all matching as part of a set: bedstead, night table, desk, dresser, and bookcase. It was a pretty room, but there was no time to focus on that now. She looked up as she watched him come in, her face going even more white at the realization that her teacher was going to see her cry. Poor thing, from Erik's point of view, she was terrified, and trembling. He had some serious work to do.

Before he said anything, before he addressed her in any way, he began to sing. A lullaby he wrote, never expecting it to be used in any way, but a beautiful melody nonetheless. He did not want to disturb the grandmother, for this was something that she did not need to witness, and so he deliberately threw his voice so that it sounded quietly right next to her ears. His voice was not just enchanting, not just calming… It was intoxicating. With more intensity than ever before, Erik wrapped Christine in the shroud of his voice, strands of gossamer weaving her thoughts seamlessly into an empty sea of calm. Almost immediately, she stopped her crying, and soon the tears ceased to fall down her cheeks at all. She listened, frozen for a few moments, before she felt the overwhelming need to lie down. She did so, leaning against the pillows on her bed as she closed her eyes. She was compelled to listen to the voice for several more minutes, its smooth, consistent rhythm lulling her breathing into a deep, natural pattern. Once he no longer doubted the serenity that now overtook her, he returned her awareness to her. He was still standing in her doorway, like a patient sentinel, waiting until the lucidity returned to her eyes.

"How do you feel?" He asked softly, like the first time he had ever sung to her.

"Better," she breathed, without hesitation. Even with that one word, Erik could easily tell that her tone was still clear as a bell. She was still a little bewildered, after her near-meltdown and the suddenness of his voice, but that faded in a few moments as she continued to breathe. She would be alright, Erik reassured himself.

"Good." His speaking voice, while remaining soft, returned to its authority and command. "Dress in something warm, it doesn't matter what. Come downstairs and eat something, and then we will sing. Breathe, Christine." And with that, he left her, descending the stairs before Maria had the mind to be worried. The old woman, who was already preparing something to eat for her child, bless her, confided her fears in Erik, who reassured her with patience and civility. This day was going to go as planned, under his control. And there was nothing that anyone could do about it.

To the relief of both her guardian and her teacher, Christine soon descended the stairs, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a knit sweater. It was not the most fashion-forward of choices, but she was warm and cozy, which helped her to relax. She thanked her Mamma dearly for lunch, taking a grateful sip of her tea before she started to eat.

"Child, are you feeling better?" She asked with concern, leaning over the counter to catch Christine's eye.

"Much better, Mamma," Christine assured her guardian, a small smile pulling at her lips. "I'm fine, I just… forgot myself."

"Well, there is no use in doing anything on an empty stomach," Maria replied happily, breathing a sigh of relief when her granddaughter even looked better. Still visibly shaken, but better. "Eat, before you do anything else. And finish your tea, it will help your throat. It's licorice, if you haven't noticed."

"Perfect," Erik commended Maria's efforts nonchalantly, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. "Once you are done, Christine, I need to start warming you up."

She nodded, and before long, she swallowed the last of her sandwich, clearing her throat with the last of her hot tea. Once she had eaten, she felt infinitely better, and with almost natural step she followed Erik to the piano. It was her first time singing that day, and Erik listened with terrifying attentiveness to the accuracy and quality of her pitch. His instructions to her were barely a whisper, low and intense, and he was pleased to find that she obeyed his corrections without hesitation. Now that she was calm and focused, her voice could settle into its new technique and beauty. After some adjustment and time, she sounded gorgeous, and he was quite satisfied.

"Excellent." Praise of this caliber was almost nonexistent from him, and she allowed it to signal the end of her singing for now. "You sound wonderful, Christine. Now, we must be going."

Suddenly, a pair of arms closed around Christine, and a pair of lips pressed kisses to her forehead. It was her grandmother, hoping to give her a good send-off.

"Good luck, my child," Maria cooed as she squeezed her grandchild, smiling all the while. "You can do this. When you get back, I want to hear all about it."

"Okay, Mamma." Christine's voice was barely a whisper, rather timid in comparison to her singing just moments before.

She bid her grandmother goodbye, following Erik as he led her firmly out of the front door and into his Mercedes. He did not allow her any room for fear, keeping her strictly under his control and adhering to his carefully planned schedule. He kept the car in a comfortable silence on their drive into the city, and his first stop was the salon he had hired for Christine's preparation. Upon their arrival, Erik gave his keys nonchalantly to the valet driver, having the sense to open Christine's door for her, seeing she was in quite a daze.

If she was truthful, she had never been to somewhere as high-end as this. The salon was near the center of the city, all glass windows and clean white from the outside, it's name engraved in script on the door. Over the past few years, she had taken to cutting her own hair, for all she needed was a trim of the ends every couple of months. And, to her grandmother's disappointment, she never wore makeup. She owned a few items, but they generally sat, abandoned, in the drawer of her dresser, instead looked over in favor of a bare, comfortable face. Christine was a very beautiful girl, but she was also one of practicality.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: Hi everyone! I hope you enjoy this chapter as always. From now on, I'm going to be posting new chapters every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, just so I don't run out of content. Thanks for reading!**

Erik quickly ushered her inside, and as he checked his watch he realized that they were already a little behind schedule. He promptly handed her off to an assistant that came to greet them, obviously recognizing them as the client scheduled for four o'clock.

"Appointment for Daae?"

"Uh… Yeah, I guess?"

Christine was shocked that she even had an appointment, but she didn't have much time to think until she was whisked further into the salon. Much to her confusion and slight dismay, she was led by the assistant directly to her first order of business, which was located in the back of the salon and down a hallway. A characteristically white door was opened, and she was shown inside. Aided primarily by her curiosity, she peeked inside, her face going a little paler than normal at the sight. There, with wide eyes, she found a beautifully muscular man, shirtless, waiting to give her a massage.

"Good afternoon, Miss Daae," a rich, masculine, velvety voice called to her, assumingly coming from the man who now stood with her behind the closed door. "Please remove all clothing on your top half and lay face down on the table."

The man was assuming that she knew what she was getting herself into, and while that wasn't the case, Christine thought it best to act like it. Well, if she wasn't given much of a choice, might as well go with it. The man looked respectfully away as she did as she was told, and she wondered absentmindedly why she wasn't as nervous as she should have been in this situation. After all, it was not every day that she receives the gift of a massage from a beautiful man in a Paris beauty salon. Though, the thought sounded very indicting, especially as she noticed the nervous tension she was holding. As she settled herself, the soft sound of classical music filled the room, and a few moments later there was the feeling of soft, warm hands working out the tension in her shoulders. Oh my God, this is heavenly.

Her masseur was incredibly strong, yet gentle, and from presumably years of experience he knew exactly where she was tense, where it hurt, and what could be done about it. She had enough sense to answer questions he posed out of polite conversation, and once she told him that she was a singer, he made sure to focus primarily on the muscle tension in her neck and shoulders. Wow, he's good at this. Christine lost track of time as she felt herself relax, and she didn't know how long she was lying there until she began to drift off. She never fell completely asleep, but she came close, only jolted awake by the sudden lack of sensation once he was finished. She opened her eyes, thanking him dreamily as he offered her sweater to her. She quickly redressed, still lost in a haze of relaxed bliss, barely having the mind to bid him a good day before she was retrieved by her assistant. Now, for the hair.

She was presented to a man, also very beautiful and very muscular (this was becoming a theme), with amazing, thick, shiny hair that was neatly gathered up into a bun at the back of his head. Well, at least she was in good hands. His eyes immediately widened at the sight of her hair, smiling at the possibilities, and he quickly took her shoulders and spun her around so that he could play with it. Strong, competent fingers flowed through her mess of thick, blonde curls, murmuring things to himself as he decided on a plan of action. Presumably he had come to a decision after a few moments, because he led her to the back of the salon once again to a row of hair-washing sinks.

It had been quite a long time since Christine was pampered like this. The entire experience brought back pleasant memories of one of her birthdays, when Mamma had given her a 'spa day' as a present. She looked back at her childhood, and while it was wrought with a considerable amount of pain, primarily death, she realized that there were so many more good memories than she gave credit for. There were birthdays with friends, others just with her guardian, holidays, Christmas, early morning church services and hot tea by the fireplace in the wintertime. There was home, there was school now… and there was music.

All of these thoughts ran peacefully through her head as said strong, beautiful man washed her hair, and she was practically purring as he massaged her scalp and treated her hair with sweet-smelling oils and conditioners. Soon, her hair was wrapped in a towel, and she was led absentmindedly to sit in a styling chair, where he proceeded to trim the ends as she watched with a relaxed expression. Just as quickly as he started, he was finished, and soon she was sitting under a salon dryer with a magazine and a cup of hot tea (chamomile, as she requested). I could get used to this, she mused.

It did not take long for her hair to dry, and as it did, it sprung back up into its usual mess of curls and spirals. Normally, this would have been impossible to style, except that now it was incredibly smooth and shiny due to the product that was massaged into it before. Now, it was easy for Beautiful Hair Man to expertly style her hair into a beautiful updo, looking primarily like a braided crown around her head with a braided bun at the nape of her neck. It was gorgeous, and there was no doubt that it would stay in place and out of her face for the remainder of the evening.

Next up was a woman, once again beautiful, with her own makeup expertly done and now preparing to do Christine's. Though, it was found that she did not need much, simply some foundation, some eyeliner and mascara to accent her eyes, and a coat of deep red lipstick.

When everyone was finally done with her, she looked in the mirror, and hardly recognized herself. Of course, the makeup was subtle, looking as if she really didn't have any on, but it made her natural features sparkle with a beauty that she had not believed them able to display. Her hair, instead of falling in chaotic waves down her back or wrestled into her best attempt at a braid, was amazingly soft and shiny, held in place by expertly placed pins and a timeless style. She looked sophisticated, professional, yet still young, seemingly too young for her desired profession. But, of course, Erik was determined for her to be taken seriously, and her salon trip was only a part of that plan. The same stylist who took her from the front was the one to give her back to her teacher, who was pleasantly surprised by the result of the previous two hours. He closed the book he had brought with him and stood, opening the door for her as they both left for the valet parking. Once they were seated comfortably in Erik's Mercedes, Christine finally found the strength to speak, obviously a little dazed and out of her element.

"That was…"

"I know, they are a very talented group there," Erik replied amusedly, obviously taking her short, unfinished statement as a thank-you.

"I think I fell asleep during the massage," she replied with a small chuckle, obviously much more relaxed than when she had gone in. "He was extremely talented."

"It was necessary, of course." He replied in his straightforward, professional manner. "As I have told you several times, stress leads to vocal tension, which leads to injuries. That is the last thing I, or you, need tonight."

"Of course, sir," she replied softly, gazing out the window as they continued their course to their next destination. "Thank you, though, for everything. You really didn't need to do any of this."

"Again, you are representing me, as well as the entire conservatory, with your presence tonight. If there is something that I can do to increase the chances of success, then no effort will be spared."

Before long, it became clear that they were headed to Erik's apartment, where Christine assumed that there would be something for her to wear. After all, she was not performing in a sweater and sweatpants, that was for sure. Once again, she was led through the extravagance of the lobby, through the foyer, and to the elevator, where the button for the top floor was pressed in a nonchalant silence. By this time, Christine had fallen into a comfortable state of numbness, and though she was nervous for the night to come, she found herself unable to dread it. In fact, she was even beginning to look forward to it.

Her heart fluttered with anticipation as they entered Erik's penthouse apartment, and this time, they were not alone. A man sat on the plush leather sofa, impeccably dressed, turning his head once he heard them come in. Christine immediately recognized him as Erik's designer, who had visited her at the beginning of the week. He stood, and while he was much taller than Christine, he was also much shorter than Erik.

"Jean-Claude," Erik greeted him with a small smirk, extending his hand congenially.

"Dr. Carriere," the designer replied, his voice sophistically accented. "Sir, your attire is laid in your room. Everything for Miss Daae is in the guest room, I will assist her."

"Excellent." Erik allowed Jean-Claude to whisk Christine away to the spare bedroom, while he retreated to his own to dress. By this time, he knew perfectly well how to dress himself, and so he allowed his designer to assist his less experienced student.

Christine's attire for the night was laid out, right down to the undergarments. At first, the sight of the arrangement made her blush red, but of course, it was just another day for the man helping her dress. He turned respectfully away as she took off her clothing, putting on the bra and underwear that were chosen for her.

"Uh… how... did you know my bra size?" She asked, kind of weirded out but also strangely curious when her undergarments fit perfectly.

"My darling," he replied in his sultry accent, "I have been clothing the elite of Paris for over twenty years. You come to know things."

Without so much as another word, he turned around, helping his charge into her dress. It was gorgeous, entirely in black. The bodice and long sleeves were made completely from opaque black lace, which came all the way up to cover the base of her neck. Down her back was a row of small, black satin buttons, which acted as the closure that Jean-Claude was currently working on. The skirt consisted of flowing, shining satin, tea length in the front and ankle length in the back, which framed her rather beautiful legs. As she looked at herself in the mirror, she silently thanked herself for remembering to shave. It was a modest dress, but professional, sophisticated… refined. He certainly knew how to impress.

A small smirk tugged at his lips as he admired his work, bringing her into the living area in order to show Erik his job well done. Her teacher had already dressed, in a full formal tuxedo, entirely in black. His waistcoat was covered with the same lace that adorned the bodice of her dress, and while this was not completely obvious, it did bind them together as a matching pair. He looked Christine over, unable to keep a smile from his face, and while he tried not to stare, he couldn't help that either. She was absolutely gorgeous, and a strange sensation tugged at his heartstrings as he realized that he was going to be attached to something so beautiful for the entire night. His cheeks burned red underneath that mask, which had just been polished, looking so refined that she almost couldn't imagine him without it. That was his trick, you see. Make the mask seem something so natural that no one questions why it is there.

"You look stunning, Christine." He forced professionalism in his tone to mask the fondness that spilled from his lips. "Jean-Claude, a wonderful job, as always."

"Thank you, sir." Jean-Claude went to retrieve his coat, and after a few more exchanges of polite conversation, he took his leave.

Wasting no time, Erik and Christine left shortly after, for it was nearing seven o'clock and there were preparations at the opera to be done. To her surprise, they neared Erik's black Mercedes, as usual, but it was not he who would be driving. Another man, presumably one that Erik knew, for he opened the back door for Christine and got into the passenger seat without so much as a blink of surprise.

"Christine, this is Francis, the head of my security team."

"Oh, it's nice to meet you," Christine greeted the man kindly, shaking his hand before they got on the road.

Before they began to near the opera, Christine was able to convince herself that everything was fine, that she wasn't afraid, that she would be fine. But with each passing moment, as the minutes grew closer and closer to the event that she had been dreading - um, anticipating - for weeks now, she found herself suddenly unable to cope with the feeling of anxiety gripping her chest. She could no longer lock herself in her ivory tower of comfort and numbness, and Erik's voice was now only helping so much. Now, she had to feel, she had to deal with the onslaught of emotions she had been avoiding all week, bottling them until they rose in her throat and threatened to explode. And, as usual, she couldn't. Get ahold of yourself, Christine, she scolded herself as her heart fluttered in her chest, though this time the feeling was not pleasant. _You can't cry, you already cried this morning-_

"Are you alright?" She heard a voice calling to her, and she faintly recognized it as her teacher's. She nodded absentmindedly, but her eyes looked faraway, as if she didn't even hear what he had said. A hand catching hold of her wrist was enough to jerk fear from her own thoughts, only to realize that he was taking her pulse. He frowned instantly. "Christine, breathe."


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: The gala is underway! We haven't gotten into the meat of it yet, but you'll have to wait for that... *more evil laughing* Enjoy!**

"Christine, breathe."

"I-I'm okay," she tried in vain to reassure him, but she was silenced by his stern, cold glare.

"Do not lie to me." His voice was low, and it sounded as if it was right in her ear, overwhelming her every thought with its echoes. "What are you feeling?"

She struggled to find one word to describe the pulling of her chest, the beating of her heart, the trembling in her hands. She was feeling so many things, that it was hard to organize them all. But, there was an overwhelming sense of something, and after a few moments, she named it.

"I'm afraid."

"Of what?" He pushed, never breaking his analytical gaze on her.

"Everything."

"Specificity is key, Christine. Choose something."

Oh, if only it were that easy. Where Erik lacked in emotional empathy, he made up for in intellect.

"Failure, I suppose. Yes, that's what I'm most afraid of."

"Well, do you know your music?"

"Yes, of course, but-"

"Have you been properly prepared?"

"Yes-"

"Do you have a firm grasp on social conventions, conversation, manners?"

She became amusedly offended at this. "Of course, I wasn't-"

"Then you will be just fine. Everything else, you leave to me. Focus."

At his reassurance, she finally mustered the strength met his gaze. For some strange reason, it seemed to help. He was close enough to where she could map out the hazel and gold flecks of his irises, and they were quite distracting to look at. She didn't know if it was because of her previous anxiety, but his eyes seemed so dynamic: displaying so many things at once, but never giving anything away. In fact, the longer she stared at them, the more that the different colors and flecks in his eyes seemed to… move? After a few moments, she realized that she was probably making him uncomfortable, but he didn't seem to mind. With him locked on her eyes, his voice had even more of an effect on her, because she was focused on him.

"Slow down your breathing," he instructed her, his voice like velvet. "That's better. It will bring your pulse down and keep you from panicking. We're almost there, breathe."

She nodded, and after a few more cycles of breath, she leaned against the back of her seat, closing her eyes. Eventually, she felt the car slow to a halt, and she forced herself to open her eyes as Erik opened her door. She swung her legs out to stand up, but she hesitated, her eyes widening as she caught her first glimpse at the Opera Garnier.

"This is really happening, isn't it?" Her voice was soft and faraway, reminding Erik almost of a dream.

"Yes, it is." He allowed her a few moments to adjust, standing dutifully by the side of the car. "Let's do this."

Those last words seemed to snap her completely out of her daze, and to his delight, she seemed confident on her feet as she stood. Let's do this, she thought to herself, taking a deep breath before she allowed Erik to lead her up the grand steps and into the entrance of the famous Paris opera house. He looked down at her then, a rather amused grin spreading across his face at the sight of her. He knew she was trying to put on her best 'game face', and he hardly stifled a laugh as they entered the front doors.

Of course, there were not many people there, besides from staff, fellow performers, and the like. As they neared the auditorium, it was clear that singers were conducting sound checks and warming up on the stage, and it was assumed Christine would do that same. The thought daunted her, but she tried to remain calm and composed. She couldn't let her teacher down, not now. Soon, they were walking down the center aisle to the stage, and Christine trailed a little behind Erik's comfortable stride. When he was stopped by someone who apparently knew him, she stopped too, remaining a respectful distance behind him.

"Dr. Carriere!" A congenial, old voice sounded from an audience seat, seeming to get closer as he caught the attention of his target.

"Dr. Greene, it's a pleasure," Erik replied politely, shaking the man's hand out of obligation.

"Such talent tonight!" The old man began conversation, looking to the stage and pointing out a singer in a lilac dress. "She's mine, right there. Beautiful soprano. Which one's yours? You didn't bring anyone last year…"

Christine too looked toward the stage, her face going a little pale as she realized who she was up against. Most of those singers looked to be in at least their mid-twenties, a few looking to be early thirties. She was by far the youngest in the auditorium, by at least a few years. Oh God, she thought to herself, trying to force herself to breathe, what was she going to do?

Erik shook Christine from her daze by taking her arm gently, pulling her to his side. She realized that this was not going to be the last time he had to show her off tonight.

"This is Christine, she's my soprano." Erik smirked a little from the look of surprise that came as a response from his colleague. "I would tell you about her, but she will speak for herself when she sings."

"My God, she's awfully young," Dr. Greene commented brazenly, rather shocked. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen, sir," she replied, with a little less confidence than she had hoped. She extended her hand, trying to put on a brave face. "It's an honor to meet you, I've read your thesis on the application of classical vocal technique in modern rock fusion. I found it extremely riveting."

Now, Erik was the one who was impressed and shocked. He knew Christine was wickedly intelligent, but he never truly realized how well read she was. Perhaps this would be an enlightening night for all.

"You did?" Dr. Greene asked incredulously. "My goodness, people usually never get through it. Thank you."

"Yes, of course. I loved the section on opera's specific influence. People don't realize it, but operatic influence is extremely prevalent in a lot of music not normally associated with the craft. It's an eye-opener."

Both Dr. Carriere and Dr. Greene simply nodded to her, a little dazed at the extent of her reading. After a while, Erik excused them both, for she had to get to her sound check. He led her away, a little lost in his own thought as they finished their journey to the stage. Erik let her ascend the stairs, staying behind to sit in the audience and watch, and potentially be forced to mingle with some of his other colleagues.

She didn't have any time to think before she was approached by a member of the tech crew, who asked her for her name and what school she was with. When they realized that she was from the Institute, they looked her up and down once more, as if to imply that she was much too young to be here. She brushed it off initially, but she had to admit that it bothered her, deep down. When they asked her if she would like a microphone, her eyebrows furrowed, and she nervously asked them to wait while she consulted with Erik.

"Mic or no mic?" She asked him, her eyes a little wide.

"Dear God, no mic!" He whisper-exclaimed, looking to her intensely. "This auditorium has some of the most exquisite acoustics in the world, do not squander that with electronic enhancement. You are just fine on your own."

She nodded, taking his answer to the tech staff on the stage. They marked off her preference on a clipboard, and because she was not using any electronics, they did not make her sing just yet. Instead, they had her go see the accompanist, who took her music and tucked it away where they could find it later. Once she was done, she truly had a chance to stand on the stage, looking deeply into the vast sea of red velvet seats. Those would be full, quite soon, in fact. And she would stand in this very spot, with nothing but a piano for company, and sing. Sing like her life depended on it, because it felt like it did.

During her short respite of inner contemplation, Erik was forced to acquaint himself with more of his colleagues, who quite obviously recognize him. Apart from these types of events once per year, sometimes less, he almost never had to interact with other members of his profession. And while they all seemed to remember him, he often had to remind himself who was who, who was from where, and who did what. They were all pointing out their singers, boasting of their abilities and repertoires, a small pissing contest, if you will. Erik stayed silent until he was provoked, forced to engage in conversation despite his better judgement.

"Dr. Carriere! I haven't seen you since the conference last year!" One particularly insignificant man greeted him, and Erik had to search a moment for his name before he replied.

"Dr. Jammes, it's a pleasure."

"Tell me, did you bring anyone this year? I've been wondering who brought the little miss in the black, she's stunning, but so young… perhaps she's lost, she definitely looks it," the man joked, laughing heartily at his own joke.

"She would be mine," Erik stated, practically seething. He forced himself to retain his composure, for he knew that in time, his little gem would show them all. He decided against all of his instinct to not reveal anything about her. It would only prove more entertaining when she finally revealed her talent herself. For now, she was his little secret, and that entertained him to no end.

In an attempt to calm himself from the murderous trajectory he was currently on, he looked to his student on the stage, taking the lull in the conversation to check in with her. For a moment, he intensely analyzed her posture, her expression, anything that would give him better insight into her emotional state, finding to his relief that she seemed to be coping quite well. Especially after the incident in the car, he worried for her, and he hoped that this night would continue to go as he had planned. After all, his reputation was on the line.

Once she was done on the stage, for she found that standing there for any longer seemed to be doing more harm than good, she returned to the general vicinity of her teacher, who pulled her into the group that he was currently forced to interact with. Perhaps her presence would take some of the attention off of himself, he thought selfishly. And, thank God, he was right. He didn't even have to introduce her to his colleagues before they were asking about her, and to his delight, she seemed to be a natural conversationalist.

"Dr. Jammes, it's an honor to meet you. I watched the international invitational you conducted in London this summer."

Now, this seemed to peak the rather arrogant man's interest, and he shook her hand as his ego reached nearly insurmountable levels. "Oh, really? Were you there? ..."

Christine naturally guided the conversation towards small displays of her intellectual prowess, which seemed to take the pressure off of how old she was and how much experience she had. What she knew very well was that professors and professionals in opera and musical performance loved to talk about themselves, and she did not hesitate to use this to her advantage. Before long, the professor actually began to walk with her, going on tangents about his work and his accomplishments as they neared the exit of the auditorium and the entrance to the grand foyer. Checking his watch, Erik realized that it was eight o'clock, and now the real action was upon them. The reception had begun, the foyer was filled with music-loving Paris elite, and this night was the playground for the intellectual and affluent alike.

After a considerably long time, Erik decided to intervene, knowing that Christine must be reeling from the conversation by now. With a few curt, but polite words, he stole her away in order to give her reprieve from this special form of intellectual hell, which she was grateful for. She could talk about opera and music all day, for it was truly a passion of hers. But, what she could not bear was the overwhelming egos of self-satisfied professionals. Perhaps, that was what was so refreshing about Erik. While he did come with a certain amount of self confidence, the difference was that he had the bonafide genius to provide the substance to his ego. Though, Christine was noticing that said ego was ballooning by the minute in front of all of his colleagues.

"Tonight is essentially a formal gathering to meet donors," Erik explained to her, watching her freeze at the sight of the large reception. "The opening reception is simply to mingle, put a name to a face, and soon you will go backstage. You will sing, they will watch, and during the following after party they will proceed to throw money at you."

"Is that why everyone is bragging about their singer?" She asked nervously.

"Yes, precisely. Although it is not technically in the rules, the donors tend to favor the performance they like the best." Her face paled a little at this, but he did not seem too concerned. As he spoke, he began to lead her into the crowd of people at the base of the stairs. "Half of the people you will be singing 'against', per se, are not even students, they are alumni."

"Why didn't you bring one of your graduates, then?"

"All of my graduates are working professionals, Christine. Most of them aren't even in France anymore."

She did not have much time to dwell on this before Erik was spotted by a few people who recognized him. She encouraged herself to stay mostly quiet, watching the proceedings as she rested her voice, coming to notice things she normally would not have if she made herself the center of attention. As Christine watched his interactions with what she liked to deem 'walking bank accounts', she noticed that most seemed to revere the man in the mask as an enigma, a walking mystery, a puzzle they were genuinely interested in solving. Of course, all of them were too careful to not mention said mask directly, but it still did its duty as shrouding Erik and his institution in a cloud of obscurity. In fact, it came to light that Erik had not brought anyone to sing for years now, bringing the attention on Christine for quite a few reasons. She was the first student from the Institute that most of them had seen with him for a while now. Of course, they all knew of his alumni and their successes, but it was exceptionally rare to actually see him with a student. And, of course, she was so young that most of them silently questioned Dr. Carriere's judgement for bringing her here, wondering how he even found her in the first place. This did not go unnoticed by him, however: he noticed the odd, half-second-too-long stares, donors and other musicians alike looking her up and down with confusion, and the slight hint of arrogance they displayed when speaking to her. He was grateful when he checked his watch and found that it was eight-thirty, so that he could send her backstage and end her silent torture.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: Here it is, guys! The chapter you've all been waiting for! Enjoy!**

She did as she was told and took her leave with a few polite words, following directions from a member of staff to the entrance to the backstage. It took a few wrong turns down hallways she didn't even recognize, and some trial and error, but finally she arrived at her destination. From her vantage point, she could see through the wings and onto the stage, and down a lit hallway to the dressing rooms. There, she found one of the larger dressing rooms open for the singers, stepping in quietly with the hope of not drawing too much attention to herself. Of course, this was nearly impossible. Not only was she stunning, but she was also the youngest person in the room by far. She had grown used to it by now, but that didn't mean the others had.

"I hope this night is over with soon, I am missing Carmen rehearsals for this. Of course, I was going to say no, but Dr. Greene asked me so nicely-" A woman, wearing the same lilac dress that Christine spotted on stage, was chatting away until she noticed her in the mirror. "Oh hey, you're the kid from the Institute. We were wondering who you were."

Soon, everyone in the room had turned to face Christine, who went white as a ghost in the doorway. She smiled politely, trying her best to keep from trembling. "Yes, hi… I'm Christine." She felt exceptionally stupid with such a small response, but it was all she had to say.

"How old are you?" A man, looking to be in his late twenties, asked, his voice sounding a deep baritone.

"Eighteen."

"Oh my god, you're fresh out of high school!" A contralto exclaimed, holding back a laugh. "Soprano, presumably?"

She nodded, and they all nodded back, not seeming surprised.

"Well, luckily for us, you are on last, which means we get to watch you sing." The woman in the lilac dress was presumably trying to be kind with this statement, but there was an underlying tone of something that Christine did not quite appreciate. For the life of her, she could not tell if they thought of her as a joke, or whether they were threatened by her. Or both.

She brushed off this feeling as best as she could, trying not to think of it too much, choosing instead to stay silent while she made herself a cup of tea from the complimentary drink station in the dressing room. She found somewhere to sit, putting some distance between her and the pack of singers that seemed to be silently judging her. _Calm down, Christine. They don't matter, none of this matters. Drink the tea, relax, breathe. Breathe,_ that last word in her head echoed in Erik's authoritative, yet comforting voice, forcing her to take a breath and reorganize her thoughts. Hearing his voice, even in her head, seemed to set her priorities straight. Having something warm to drink cleared her throat was well as her mind, and soon the minutes were slipping by in a haze of polite, yet tense conversation. After all, she could not completely alienate the people she was sharing a dressing room with.

First, one singer left for the stage, then another, then another. For a few of them, Christine forced herself to stand and watch them from the wings, knowing that not doing so would be a wasted opportunity to learn. But, her mind was not in it, and her feet felt like lead as time seemed to drag on, frustratingly slow yet impossibly fast all at once. She continued to sip her tea, to keep her throat warm, knowing that soon it would be her turn on the stage.

For Erik, watching the performance was his own form of personal hell. He, along with the other headmasters of institutions being represented tonight, were seated in Box Five, which boasted the best view of the stage. After the first two performances, they all seemed to blur together into a great compilation of shameless vocal gymnastics. Comments from his colleagues including "this one's mine" or "mine's up next" were followed by rather gaudy displays of range, trills, and other nonsense exhibitions of vocal agility. Not only did it look like a dog show, but it sounded like one. What the singers lacked in genuine vocal talent, they made up for with a complete lack of taste, for all of them were dressed to the nines without an ounce of professionalism or style. As if to distract himself from the nightmare that was unfolding in front of him, he silently thanked himself for hiring a designer for his student. At last, as if the universe decided that he could not and should not withstand any more, he finally followed with his golden eyes a petite figure, dressed in black, cross the threshold to the stage.

" _And this one is mine_ ," he murmured pointedly, just loud enough so that his colleagues could hear him. This was the moment he had been waiting all night for. _For the love of God, Christine, don't screw this up._

He, along with most of the audience, sat up a little in their seats at the sight of her crossing the stage. The rumor had spread that a particularly young artist, from the Institution, was making an appearance tonight, a girl that none of them knew and all of them itching to find out about. Perhaps this was a charity case, and they were being made to watch her perform as part of some outreach program for younger students. Yes, that seemed to be a logical explanation for the proceedings, and they would all be forced to give their polite congratulations to her after the performance as part of some confidence-boosting regime. Either way, Erik would quite clearly tell that most of the donors in the audience were preparing themselves for something particularly bad, bracing themselves for a meek display of some marginal vocal talent that they probably would barely be able to hear anyway. Yes, she was the only singer that opted out of using a microphone, upon Erik's request. Maybe this was a mercy, most of the audience reassured themselves. He smiled as he witnessed the sudden shift in the mood of the audience, for this newfound sense of nonchalance would only add to their shock once Christine's voice touched their ears.

Christine's own ears, in fact, felt as if they were stuffed with cotton. As she stood in the wings, her heart was racing in her throat, her hands were trembling, her eyes glazed over with a sense of fear that she could not push away. When the sound of applause for the singer before her filled the air with its thunder, it sounded to her like it was far away, or underwater. She tried desperately to calm herself, to control her breathing, to keep herself from fainting right there, but she hardly felt alive. She probably looked a wreck then, and the small crowd of singers behind her had good reason to predict her eminent demise upon that stage. As they watched her every move curiously, she felt like a spectacle, felt trapped inside of herself, felt everything all at once like a storm that was welling inside of her and threatening to crash. _Breathe, focus… Christine, get ahold of yourself, please just get through this…_

And then... She stepped onto the stage. She stepped onto the stage, and she felt her breath stop. She forced herself into the light, felt the artificial warmth on her skin… and her heart stopped. Her mind stopped… time itself stopped. She felt herself stop, as if held by some invisible force deep inside her, center stage. And in that moment, everything was still. Blissfully, mercifully still. The quiet shifting of the audience seemed too distant to be significant, and each passing second felt simultaneously like a flash and an eternity. She felt the stares of thousands of people watching her every move, and yet she felt so open, yet so closed off at the same time. The very essence of the stage seemed to rearrange her consciousness, slow her breathing, clear the rushing in her head until there was just quiet. Quiet… and music. A piano, playing a familiar melody, but with different hands… She listened to that music, which seemed to pull her into the present, remind her of where she was and why she was here. She focused on the melody welling up inside of her like a long-forgotten memory… And she sang.

That first note was was so tantalizingly soft, yet so unbelievably beautiful, that it plunged the audience into a silence so deep that a pin drop would sound like a cannon in its depths. Erik, just for a moment, closed his eyes in a wash of relief, for he distinctly recognized the voice he heard in his dreams, the voice he heard lesson after lesson, every day. In that first note, he knew immediately that she was not going to disappoint, and he felt himself relax as he listened, now without apprehension, to his songbird. He felt, rather than saw, the entire audience lean forward a little in their seats, as if drawn by an invisible force to the ethereal soprano voice that now flooded the auditorium. In the first stages of its training, yet already so naturally gorgeous, it resembled a siren's song in the swirling of the high seas. A small smile pulled at his lips, for without any electronic enhancement, her voice was allowed to freely echo off of the walls and flow like a waterfall of sound into the ears of its listeners.

Christine hardly knew herself as she sang that night. She tried to force herself to focus, to pay more mind to what she was doing, but the music flowed so naturally from her lips that it felt futile to stop the cascade. To her guarded delight, she noticed the influence of Erik's teachings on the very essence of her voice, and in that moment she realized why he taught the way he did. On the stage, his techniques and adjustments felt like second nature, and everything that he had been ceaselessly correcting over the course of his tutelage fell into place before her ears. Even Erik, listening intently in his seat, was surprised at the amount of control she maintained, for he was certain that she would lose a good amount of technique to nerves and anxiety. As if to disprove this theory all together, when it came to parts of her pieces that were designed to display the extent of her natural range and agility, they were not gaudy or standoffish like the singers that came before her. She did not hold back, for once in her life, but there seemed to be a collective consensus around her considerable lack of egotism. For the audience watching her, the stage presence of the girl in front of them was so earnest, so honest, that it was impossible to not fall in love with her. She was not singing for the accolades or the stuffing of her own ego; no, she was singing for the simple beauty of the craft, which resulted in a breathtaking performance that was both endearing and refreshing. And, before she knew it, it was over.

The silence that now enveloped the auditorium was breathtaking. The entire audience, down to the very last man, was suspended in time, suspended in disbelief, until… applause. Deafening, ceaseless applause, that refused to stop even when Christine took a second small bow. Faced with the encounter of a full standing ovation, she now had a conundrum: leave the stage, or stay where she was, both of which possibly resulting in the impression of her as arrogant and rude. Yet, even as she thought of exiting, some unimaginably strong force rooted her to the spot, forced her to absorb the wordless, overwhelming praise that was being pushed on her by thousands of spectators. Now, the only thing running through her head was… _please don't pass out, don't pass out, don't pass out._ And, mercifully, her body held out on her, allowing her to remain conscious as she locked gazes with a pair of unmistakable, glowing eyes in the center of her vision.

Erik could not have been more proud of her, and it showed as he gave her an exceptionally rare, yet overtly genuine smile that seemed to reassure her from so far away. Although, he also silently chuckled to himself, for his pupil seemed to be at a fundamental loss of what to do. Even after a performance like that, she still needed to be guided as to how to proceed, and he did not hesitate to provide her that comfort. He mouthed something to her, unable to tell how she would perceive it from such a distance, but she seemed to get the message. You can leave now. And she did not need to be told twice. As she took one more small bow and exited the stage, he wondered fondly that if his lessons could produce a voice like that in just under a month, then what was to come in the coming seasons? To what lengths could he take this girl, what horizons could she reach? He did not know, but he was overly anxious to find out. To him, she was the enigma.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note: Here we go, the aftermath of the gala! Things are really going to start picking up from here, folks, so enjoy!**

The audience frankly had no idea how they all ended up in the grand foyer, but they managed it, right on schedule for the reception that was awaiting them. Hors d'oeuvres awaited them on several buffet tables strategically placed throughout the vast opera foyer, accompanied by a generous amount of champagne and other beverages that hoped to get mouths talking and checkbooks tearing. On instinct, Christine emerged in order to search for her teacher, but she was of course halted by the congregation of people that surrounded her and did not let her pass. He would have to find her, but that proved an easy task as he followed the turning of heads toward a figure too short to be seen over the masses of people. Yes, that was definitely Christine.

He made his way silently through the crowd, and though people left and right were hoping to speak with him, they would wait until he found his student. He was determined to see her, knowing that she was most likely lost in a sea of questions, compliments, and diplomatic nightmares. His approach resulted in him standing directly behind her, and when he greeted her with a soft graze of his distinct hand against her shoulder. She seemed to stiffen a little at the passing gesture, but relaxed immediately once she saw him. She could not be more relieved to not be alone anymore, and it seemed to remove the mental block that kept her from speaking only moments before. And now, she was even more aware of the questions that seemed to pelt her from every side, which Erik mercifully answered for her as she still regained her bearings.

"How did you learn to sing like that?" A professor of another, smaller conservatory in France asked, and while she recognized the man from some reading she did, she could not place his name.

"I-"

"She is a personal student of mine," Erik cut her off, his luscious voice doing much to calm the people surrounding them. He took the attention off of her for a moment, a selfless act that he knew was necessary if she was to survive the rest of this night. Of course, years of business taught him how to conduct himself in situations such as this, and she still had much to learn.

"Is this something you have done in the past?"

"No, she I'd the first student I have taken on. And I do not expect there to be a second."

"Do you attribute yourself to her success?"

Now, Erik was offended. She was standing right there, and she had ears. Such distaste from the walking bank accounts. But, of course, he forced himself to keep his composure. "While I certainly have helped, her voice held natural talent even when I first met her."

"And when was that?"

"About a month ago, now."

Erik was sure to keep his responses short, for several reasons. For one, it maintained an air of mystery around Christine and her accomplishments, which gave her a reputation. In addition, the enigma of such a voice was enough to keep investors curious, and they felt tortured by his confidentiality and wanted desperately to know more. After all, anyone and everyone was willing to pay good money for an even better reveal, and he knew that. Lastly, his general curt manner and supposed lack of interest was able to dwindle down the conversation to no more than a few people at a time, which was more manageable for the bewildered student that stood beside him. Once she adjusted to the overwhelming atmosphere of the gala, she was better able to speak and answer questions for herself.

Conversation with several music professionals, investors, and donors led them naturally to the refreshments table, for everyone seemed to be in the mood for food and drink with their conversation. Christine couldn't even think of eating, the very thought causing a lump to form in her throat, but a glass of champagne did seem quite welcome at the moment. She reached for one until a particularly stony glare from her teacher made her opt for water.

"Alcohol after a vocally taxing performance?" He questioned, an eyebrow raising beneath the mask. "Have you completely lost your senses?"

She shrugged apologetically, staying mercifully silent as she sipped her mineral water. Erik knew for a fact that she felt fine now, most likely from the sheer amount of adrenaline coursing through her veins, shielding her from most of the fatigue she would definitely feel later. His theory was proved correct by the fact that she wouldn't eat, which was normal after such a stressing event. Sometime soon, he predicted, she would crash, and he wanted to be there when it happened so that he could get her home before she completely collapsed. But, while she was still in her prime, he wanted to get as much out of her as he could, and so he continued their conversation with a particularly loose-lipped member of the Paris elite.

Within the next few minutes, Erik was presented with a check and a information card for further business affairs. The man was obviously swayed by the champagne flowing freely from members of staff. Of course, all was fair play in the land of business politics, and Erik thanked him so very much before moving along to his next victim. This happened quite a few times over the course of the next hour, and many a time Erik allowed Christine to do the talking, for he noticed she was rather good at it.

"My dear," many of the older members of high society greeted as such, which made Erik's blood boil, "you have one of the most beautiful voices I have ever heard. I cannot wait to see what you do with it during your career."

"Thank you so much," she would always reply, looking so adorable and sweet with her wide blue eyes and tantalizingly red lips. Get ahold of yourself, Erik. Now, for the trick that always seemed to get the pen to checkbook.

"You know," she would start, as if letting them on to a little secret, "I never thought I would get into the Institute, though it was always a dream of mine."

"Really?" They would always reply, wide-eyed and curious.

"Yes, really. And, even when I did get accepted, I would have never been able to afford it, if it weren't for the scholarship." Of course, Erik knew this was not entirely true, but he kept his mouth shut. Mamma Valerius was certainly not without financial means, but Erik commended Christine for her donor-schmoozing skills.

"My dear, you're on a scholarship?" Again with the endearments. The only one who should be calling her that is me, Erik thought begrudgingly. Stop that.

"Yes, and I don't think it would be possible without events like this one. So I would like to thank you so very much for coming, and supporting the arts the way you do."

That was it, that was the final straw for nearly every donor she spoke to. Erik witnessed it happen at least four times, like clockwork. Those words, that little smile of hers, then a large check and a business card, in that order. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. After pocketing the most recent check, which had quite a few zeroes (he would have to count exactly how many later), he pulled her off to the side, an amazed and amused smirk adorning his lips.

"Okay, how are you doing that?"

"Doing what?" She asked innocently, giving him a knowing glance with those eyes.

"That!" He whisper-exclaimed, pointing to her face incredulously. "That face! That's how you've been squeezing money out of people this whole night!"

"I suppose so." Just then, a wickedly adorable smile flashed onto her lips, and even Erik found it difficult to maintain his resolve. She knew exactly what she was doing. "I was particularly useful at school fundraisers, for this exact reason."

"You little snake!" He couldn't keep the amusement from his tone any longer, nor could he contain the laugh that escaped from him. Could it be that he was having a good time? "You have been conning people with your cuteness all night!"

"Well, would you like me to stop?" She asked sarcastically. Obviously, her energy hadn't taken a nosedive yet.

"Heavens, no! I have plans for a new addition to Chopin Hall, which starts renovations in the spring. That money has to come from somewhere. Lead the way, Miss Daae."

They returned to the commotion of the evening, and Christine continued to charm his colleagues and donors alike with her intellectual prowess as well as her quite alarming level of adorableness and likeability. Erik watched her interactions with an expression that he had never quite felt before, and that confused him to no end. He had been teaching her for well over a month, had visited her home, and yet, he found that he was not growing weary of her company! If anything, the longer they knew each other, the worse the pain was when she left after lessons. He had never felt such pain in solitude before, not even as a child, and it quickly grew to frighten him. This had never happened to him before, not in all his years of meeting people and quickly forgetting they ever existed. Before Christine had walked into his life, taken his music by storm, people were a means to an end for him. In fact, when he first ran across her that fateful September night, she was also a means to an end for him. Perhaps he could mold her voice into something worth listening to, let her go off into the world, and attribute her success solely to his teachings. A success story like that would have been amazing for his already illustrious reputation. But no, something about Christine Daae seemed to stick with him, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not get her out of his head. Whether it be plans for lessons, her voice ringing in his ears, or those tantalizingly blue eyes… What was happening to him? Could he be growing fond of someone? It seemed impossible, but the more he watched her, the less fictitious the idea became.

Though, as another half hour dragged by, he could see that something was beginning to eat at her, making her less carefree than before. She did not seem tired, as he originally worried, but she looked… tense. Frazzled, if you will. As soon as he noticed it, he pulled her aside, unable to help his concern for her.

"Christine, are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine." She tried to reassure him, tried to shake off his worry, but it was no use lying to him. He could read her like an open book.

"Do not lie to me." His voice, while still warm and reassuring, was forceful now, as he became increasingly frustrated with her omissions.

She sighed, averting her gaze from the his glare that seemed to bore into her soul. He was so fiercely protective of her, and while it was frustrating at times, she found herself appreciating it more as time passed. "My head hurts… I just need to sit somewhere quiet for a while."

He breathed a sigh of relief when she told him what was wrong, and he allowed himself to relax when the solution was rather easy. When she dared to look back up, she saw that he was smiling a little, a rare occasion for him but becoming more frequent every day. Although, there was a little hint of mischief in this smile, glinting in his eyes like a candle against the gold flecks.

"Do you mind stairs?"

"No, why?"

"Good. Then come with me."

He took the lead, and she followed him away from the commotion of the gala and to a smaller alcove in the foyer of the opera. To her surprise, a door opened into a dimly lit stairwell, leading all the way up to who-knows-where. Well, obviously he knew, for he began to ascend the steps, patiently going slow and waiting for her despite having the capability of going much faster. Flight after flight, Christine felt the air around them go quiet, the noise of the crowd becoming silent with distance. Thank goodness she had marginally strong legs, or this would have been a nightmare, but she managed the journey up in reasonable time. With a small smile and flourish, he opened the door that stood at the very top of the stairwell, inviting her to join him in stepping out onto the roof of the opera house.


	16. Chapter 16

Christine had no idea that anyone was allowed up here, but it seemed that her teacher knew things that she did not. The quiet, crisp night air was entirely welcome after nearly an hour and a half in the foyer, packed with bodies and noise. In the open air, Christine was able to finally breathe, and Erik admitted that he felt much better as well. With a small gesture of his hand, he led her further from the stairwell, and with wide eyes Christine neared the statue of Apollo. Erik did not trail too far behind her, and in seeing her finally happy and carefree, he was able to let down his inhibitions.

In a move that made a chill go down her spine, his hand wrapped around the small of her back, almost as if on on instinct. In fact, he did not realize what he had done before he felt the lace of her dress against his sensitive fingertips, and by that time, he was frozen in shock. Besides from the occasional time where she needed physical adjustment during lessons, grazes of his fingertips that never lasted more than a moment or two, or when he held her shoulders, he had never touched her. Truly sought contact, just for the sake of touching. Of course, he had always thought of doing so, more often in the last week or two, but had always forced himself to maintain a professional politeness that he believed served them both. He hated himself for thinking of touching her in such a way, even so innocently as a hand on her back… or entwined with her own fingers. Damn him for thinking so! Not only was she his student, not only did she trust him, but she was beautiful. She was beautiful, and soon some beautiful boy would whisk her off her feet and she would forget about him. So, he had better not become too brave, lest he scare her and she run away before her time. No, if he behaved himself, he would have as much time with her as possible, before someone else, someone more deserving than he, took the angelic voice that he had created. And now that he had done something wrong, he deserved it. He deserved whatever came next.

He had touched her. Not his innocent brushes of her chin, the gentle grip on her shoulders when she was tense, but a true touch. The way his palm fit into the small of her back, the pads of his fingers settled into the soft lace of the bodice… No, nothing about this touch was educational. It still maintained an air of innocence, but it was so purely sensual that she had no idea what to do. She had never been touched in this way before, and she was not expecting it from him. Him, of all people. Her teacher, who hid so frustratingly under the guise of professionalism and poise. He, who maintained a sense of emotional detachment, even when his music gripped at her soul and tore her to pieces and put her back together all at once. That voice, which was beginning to haunt her dreams, keep her from sleeping, just from the pure emotion that she had starved herself of for so long. Because of him, she had begun to feel again. Could her teacher be growing fond of her, in a way that surpassed his pride of her as a student? Perhaps… perhaps he wanted to be friends? Companions? No, she must not think those things. He could not possibly want that for her. She was simply his student, who he taught because of her vocal potential, an obligation to the craft he was so solely devoted to. Once he did not want to teach her anymore, he would let her go, in favor of someone better, more skilled, more disciplined than herself. And if she began to have bright ideas of invading more of his life than deemed necessary, than that time would come sooner rather than later. And a touch, was just a touch. Get ahold of yourself, Christine.

Their heads simultaneously flashed through the intentions of that touch in a singular moment, though it seemed like an eternity as time slowed to a halt. And, not more than a second later, he dropped his hand as if she were on fire, a lump forming in his throat as he prepared for her to protest, to leave, to do anything. And yet, she simply stood there, meaning that he had to be the one to mention what had just happened. After all, he couldn't just ignore it, could he? No, ignoring it would be even worse than apologizing. Yes, he had to apologize for his rude behavior towards her.

"I apologize." The words left his mouth in barely a whisper, though every ounce of meaning he could muster was pushed into the sound. He truly meant it, and Christine quickly realized that fact.

"For what?" She asked, although the speed of her response left her suddenly feeling very vulnerable and very stupid. And her innocent questioning of his apology left him in agony, for now he would have to explain. It took every ounce of his strength for the words to leave his mouth.

"I… I shouldn't have…"

"It's okay." Her reply startled herself as well as her teacher, for she felt rather than heard the words she spoke. Of course, she never meant to be this forward, only give him reassurance that she did not take offense to his involuntary gesture. Again, he did not seem to understand. "I'm not afraid of you, Dr. Carriere."

"Oh, but Christine… You should be." He let his words hang in the air for a few moments, letting the implications of his warning seep into her mind before he did something very strange: he changed the subject. It was the best thing to do in a situation like this. "I was very proud of your performance tonight. There is still much work to be done, but you have made very good progress."

She did not know what to make of his warning of sorts, but she decided against questioning it. Considering that they would be spending much of their time together, in lessons, she figured she would find out soon enough. Perhaps… it had to do with the mask? No, she mustn't ask that. She will never ask that. "Thank you."

He immediately pressed for a longer response, for there was something he knew she wasn't telling him. He instinctively stiffened, for deep in his consciousness, he knew what it was. Though, he tried to deny it for a bit longer. "What is bothering you, Christine?"

"Nothing, sir." She replied quickly, though she couldn't shake the feeling that he was looking intently at her. Most likely because he was, though she refused to return his gaze.

"If you do not tell me, then I cannot help."

"It's nothing you can help with," she retorted, though she realized she was being rather cold. He did not seem to mind or notice.

"Oh, on the contrary, Miss Daae." His voice had a very odd quality to it at that time. She could very easily hear the humor behind his words, but there was also the irresistible, velvety warmth of his tone, that succeeded in making the words spill from her mouth without her even realizing.

"Why do you wear a mask, sir?"

While he was expecting these words, even forced her to say them, he did not expect the impact of their implications to hit him as hard as they did. Once Christine asked that question, which seemed to slip from her tongue like someone else was controlling her head, unimaginable guilt washed across her face as she tried to recollect herself.

"Oh God, I… I'm so sorry." She tried to take back what she said, afraid beyond fear that she had ruined everything. "Forget I asked, it's none of my business-"

"No." That one word, the intensity of his tone, was enough to make her go reeling. "No, Christine… As much as it pains me, you deserve to know. I… I have deceived you for too long."

"You have not deceived me." She tried her best to make her voice firm, just like his, but it was no use. Her nerves dominated her vocal chords to the point where she could barely speak now. "It is none of my business, I should not have asked."

"My dear," he paused for a moment, knowing that he had just voiced the term of endearment he was trying so hard to suppress. Stupid Erik, you are ruining everything. "It is only natural for you to ask. But you must not see my face, not if I wish to remain in your good graces, which I very much do."

Oh, poor, unhappy Erik… Christine simply gazed at him, her expression washed in a combination of pity and guilt. What was so awful that it forced concealment with a mask, in this day and age? She wanted nothing more than to know, but she was inexplicably afraid of how her knowledge would change things. After all, he was but her teacher, right? She was not entitled to the details of his life, like a… like a friend would be. Right?

"Dr. Carriere, this is not the nineteenth century." There was a hint of humor to her tone, which helped lift the atmosphere between them considerably. "Whether you decide to show me or not, I will still regard you with the same level of respect that I had for you before this night."

Erik simply came to look at her for a moment, wondering in his head if this was the right moment to reveal to her what he has never shown anyone. Was she really as different as she claims? Perhaps her promise to him was out of a certain fondness for him? No, that couldn't be… It couldn't be that she figured them friends, right? Did she… did she care for him? Before he had the choice to stop them, his curiosity overtook his speech, and for one instant he allowed himself to feel the hope that he has been bottling inside him for an eternity. Intoxicating, stupid hope, which roared like a wildfire and gave her the power to destroy him.

"Christine, would you consider us friends?"

Oh, what a loaded question, Dr. Carriere. Was he expecting her to say yes? Was this some convoluted scheme to force her to spill her thoughts of him? What if he did not feel the same way? Christine sighed with the impossibility of this question, but she realized that there was no other option other than to tell the truth.

"Yes, of course, Dr. Carriere. Of course, you started out as my teacher, but I believe us to be friends." Silently, she wondered how many people had the courage to call this formidable headmaster their friend.

"And no matter what lies underneath this mask, you will continue to regard me as such? A… A friend, Christine?"

"Yes, sir. I promise."

"Then, in that case…" Nervously, he played with his thumbs, looking much like a small child asking for a cookie in this moment. Christine had never seen him like this, and it worried her. "In that case… Could I ask you for one small favor? Of course, you may say no!"

"Of course, sir. Anything." Anything to make you stop looking at me with those sad puppy eyes. What was eating him?

"Would…" Words seemed to fail him in this moment, but he pushed on anyway. "Would you call me by my first name?"

That was all that he wanted? It was a pretty odd request, especially coming from someone so powerful, but it was definitely something that she could do for him. After all, friends do not call each other Dr. Carriere and Miss Daae.

"Yes, of course… Erik."

The smallest of sighs escaped his lips at the beauty of his name on her tongue. Oh, how glorious of a sound it was, coming from someone such as her. Someone with inexplicable grace, beautiful charm, someone so talented and yet so compassionate. The name sounded much like a term of endearment to him, and gave him enough confidence to square his shoulders and resume the powerful stance she was always so used to. Erik was prone to mood swings in the past, especially during their lessons, and Christine never ceased to be mystified by the many personas of this one man.

When he spoke now, his voice was confident, firm, and even a bit strict, as he prepared himself for the next course of action he had been avoiding. She had assured him that she did not need to see, but Erik knew it was for the best. He could not continue to lie to himself any longer, and she needed to know. If she ran from him, never spoke to him again, he could not say he blamed her. Her rejection would only crush his heart, and remind him of the monster he was. It would put him in his place.

"If I show you, do you swear not to scream, even if you have every intention of running away? Whatever you do, please do not scream."

"Dr. Ca- Erik… I promise. I really do." Did she even want to see anymore? Of course, she would never tell this to him while he was being so vulnerable, but she couldn't help but wonder if it was better for her to remain in blissful ignorance. Consequently, though, she was not given the option.

With a sigh of resignation, Erik reached a hand to his head, undoing the bow in the ribbon which held his mask in place. His entire body trembled as he did so, despite his attempts to appear composed, for exposing himself was against every instinct that he has ever learned. In showing himself, all of himself, to her, he was forced to trust her. This would not be the first time he placed his well being entirely in her hands, but this time, her betrayal would destroy him. Perhaps, he wanted to be destroyed. Perhaps allowing her to see him was just the latest of his self destructive habits, except this time, he was destroying his soul. Either way, he silently resigned himself for what came next as he exposed his face to fresh air.


	17. Chapter 17

The first, terrible thing she noticed was that her teacher entirely lacked a nose. Instead of that normal mound of cartilage and skin, there was a hole, a gap where a thing should be. The skin around this dark, black hole was pale, so translucent that the veins in his temples and forehead could be followed like a roadmap. This skin was smooth and bare where eyebrows should be, and it blended seamlessly into the flesh of his thin, ghostly white lips. Expanses of paper thin flesh were stretched taut over high cheekbones, and Christine wondered absentmindedly if those cheekbones would be handsome if there was just more flesh. Yes, the real problem with Erik's face, Christine concluded, was that it was just so empty. No cheeks, no color, no nose… nothing. But, even the shock of his not-nose could not compare to his eyes. Of course, Christine had stared into those eyes for what seemed like years at a time, but when they were placed in contrast to the ghost-like pallor of his skin, they seemed to burn. Burn from deep within the hollows of his eye sockets, with a fire she had never seen or cared to notice. After this day, she feared that she would never look at those eyes the same way again.

Despite the horror that lay before her, Christine was true to her word. Except for the initial widening of her eyes and the quick intake of breath, she remained mercifully reactionless. Now that he was exposed, she noticed that her teacher became innately frightened, like a deer in the headlights, impossibly afraid that she would harm him. For all intents and purposes, Christine could do much harm in this situation. She could scream, she could reject him, she could even outright attempt to slay the monster before her with only her bare hands. There was much she could do, and yet she did nothing, terrified of scaring those frightened, burning eyes before her away. Those eyes, which felt like they were boring into her very soul, picking her thoughts apart like script on a page. She was feeling several emotions all at once, but she knew one thing for certain: one of them was not fear. This was her teacher, her friend, the mortal man with the angel's voice. And she was not afraid of him.

"Go on, say it." A voice like ice cut through the chilly Paris air, catching Christine quite off guard before she realized that it was him who was speaking. Why did he sound so cold?

"Say what, Erik?" She asked, her words sounding far away, as she was deep in contemplation. His next words would knock her completely out of her daze, though.

"That you hate me."

To Erik's dismay, all that escaped Christine's mouth was a long sigh, reminiscent of his sighs of descent whenever his student would doubt herself. And then, he realized, that this gesture was one in the same. Could it be that Christine did not hate him? Could it be that, despite the horror of his face, she could still bear to be around him? Terrifyingly, for the few moments of silence that surrounded them, he did not know. He could not definitively tell from her body language, from the look in her eyes, and his own vision swam at the possibility of either her acceptance or her rejection, until…

A light, but firm pressure against his front was enough to knock every last bit of air from Erik's lungs. He was confused, frightened even, but after the initial shock he was able to derive a bit more sensation from his trembling frame. The feeling of something there stopped right about his chest, and there seemed to be two… things? wrapped around his torso, also squeezing the life out of him. Once his vision recovered, he was able to gaze down at what exactly was making a very feeble attempt to choke him to death.

 _Christine? Why would Christine try to-... ah. Is… this what a hug feels like?_

"Oh, Christine…"

The words came more like a breath than anything else, and even as they hung in the air and a wave of embarrassment washed over him, he felt like he could not control them. In an attempt to regain some sort of control over the situation at hand, Erik dared to wrap his arms gently around her shoulders, in reciprocation of her gesture. Was he doing this right? This was something that friends did, right? After a few moments, Christine felt it best to pull away, though Erik was silently screaming at her to stay, for her warmth was something that he had never really experienced before. And it felt nice. Please stay… Oh, okay. Yeah, I get it.

As soon as he was able, Erik replaced the mask upon his face, for he had been exposed for far too long. His hands trembled as they tied the ribbon back in place, and he understood that he was doing so for both their sakes. No one could be expected to gaze upon his death's head for any length of time, especially not an angel like Christine. In fact, he was surprised to find that she was even still here. His angel, the only woman who dared to look upon his face with acceptance. He had showed her his face, and she did not die! She did not faint, she did not run-

"Erik?" A small, meek voice peeked up at him through seas of blue, startling him out of his thoughts. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, perfectly all right," he replied, his voice strangely returning to its confident elegance. There was only so long that he would allow himself to be vulnerable in front of her, and he has just exceeded his limit. No, he would not allow her to see him like this anymore. His back straightened, his shoulders squared, and in a flourish that made Christine question his mood swings, he extended his hand to her. "Come, I can only imagine how much those fools are missing us downstairs."

Once again whiplashed from his sudden change of emotion, Christine found no other viable choice than to do as she was told. She laid her hand in his, a strange gesture which she figured was to make him feel more comfortable with her presence. Of course, she did not hate him, and she was willing to provide him with this small comfort as he led her towards the warmth. This is why his hand would have felt colder, she remembered, if she wasn't so freezing herself. After all, the roof of the opera in the late autumn did not provide much protection from the elements. Luckily, Erik did not seem to notice the lack of heat in her extremities as he descended the stairs once more, breathing a sigh of relief once they returned to the bustle of the reception. Yes, he thought, I can do this. In a room full of people, there is everywhere to hide.

The rest of the night passed in insignificant frivolity, with Christine remaining dutifully at Erik's side and acting as the focal point for his conversation and attention. Though, it was clear from the way that Christine mostly stayed quiet, her eyes looking faraway, that she was exhausted, and needed to go home soon. This entire ordeal, the performance, the reception, and the roof, all did their part in draining the poor girl of any energy she had left, and Erik saw that she needed rest. As the reception naturally died down, Erik saw the chance for both of them to take their leave, steering them clear of any further action while he made his exit. Christine did not have the strength to argue, and with a hand on her shoulder, Erik led her to the valet where his Mercedes was waiting.

"Good evening, Francis," Erik greeted the man in the front seat pleasantly, who made sure that Christine was comfortably seated in the back before he took off.

"Good evening, sir. Miss Daae's residence first, I assume?"

Erik answered in the affirmative, but his exact words were lost to the exhausted soprano in the backseat. For most of the drive, she simply leaned her head on the window, looking at the passing scenery as a way to keep herself awake. The conversation between Francis and her teacher served as pleasant background noise, and she chimed in at a few points, but no more than a few words at a time and nothing significant or intelligent. In fact, she didn't even really know what they were talking about, but she was able to naturally add in some comment that assured Erik that she was indeed still awake. Though, her mind was in her bed at home, and her body was quickly following suit.

When the car rolled to a halt in front of Christine's home, Erik insisted on walking her to the door, as if to make sure that she made it without falling unconscious at the door. She thanked him, and after meandering up the path to the front step, she opened the door.

The living room was bathed in the dim light of the television, which was hardly ever used, but apparently Mamma decided to watch something in her absence. Christine immediately saw that her guardian was curled up on the sofa, but as soon as she heard the front door open, she sprung up to greet her granddaughter.

"Oh, darling!" For someone who was almost asleep a few moments ago, Maria sure was excited now. "You're back! Oh, come in and tell me all about it, dear. You too," she looked to Erik kindly, whose cheeks flamed once he realized that he was being invited in.

"Oh, Madame, I simply wanted to make sure that Christine got home-"

"Nonsense," the old woman admonished, pulling Christine inside and looking to him expectantly. "It's cold out, and I will not let you leave until you've had a cup of tea while telling me everything."

"Well, if you insist, Madame." Erik found himself acquiescing to her request, along with Christine, who was too tired to argue.

"I do," Mamma replied firmly, ushering him to a place on the sofa. "I mother everyone, dear, don't be surprised."

This night was beginning to become one of many firsts, the most prominent of which was someone calling Erik dear. But, before he could protest, he found himself seated on the sofa, opposite Christine, with a cup of tea and a blanket over his lap. Mother everyone, indeed, Erik thought uncomfortably. He could not fathom the reason why Mamma Valerius insisted that he needed to be taken care of, but he found that it was not important at the moment. Despite all of his instincts, he found that he rather liked it. But, what ended up catching Erik's attention the most was the image glowing on the television screen. It was very obviously a home video, frozen in a frame which showed the same living room they were in now. In the middle of the picture, there was a little girl, probably around five or six, all rosy cheeks and tangled mess of blonde curls. She was holding a violin. As soon as Christine caught sight of the frame, her cheeks turned the deepest shade of rose, not unlike her younger self on the television.

"You played the violin?" He questioned her suddenly, turning to her with a genuinely surprised expression. "And you didn't tell me?"

"Yes, and she was good for her age," Mamma replied for her, taking a sip of tea.

"And you stopped?" Erik pushed further, making Christine feel like she was being scolded. This was not a feeling she enjoyed.

"I stopped around middle school," she admitted, averting her eyes. "I really wasn't very good."

"Nonsense," Mamma chided her, and before Christine could argue otherwise, she snatched the remote off of the coffee table and pressed play.

Suddenly, the little girl on the screen came to life, all giggles and high-pitched child's voice. Erik immediately recognized that voice as the one he taught every day, although it was much younger now, and it forced a smile from his lips. There was a bit of back and forth convincing with the person on the other end of the camera, which was undeniably Mamma Valerius herself, before the little girl started to play. It was an easy melody, although quite beautiful in its simplistic way. Erik watched the proceedings with an intense eye, pleasantly surprised to find that, while simple, there did not seem to be many glaring mistakes in technique and form.

"Do you have any of her singing?" Erik asked nonchalantly, making Mamma beam in excitement.

"I thought you would never ask."


	18. Chapter 18

"Do you have any of her singing?" Erik asked nonchalantly, making Mamma beam in excitement.

"I thought you would never ask."

"No!" Christine almost shouted, her voice a little muffled from where she hid behind her blanket. "No, this is so weird!"

"Purely academic reasons, Christine, I assure you." The humor and playful sarcasm in his tone could not be overlooked, and soon he was watching Mamma change videos as he continued speaking. "And now that I know, your violin hiatus will go on no longer. I expect you to play for me, at our next lesson."

It was now too late for Christine to stop Mamma from mortifying her in front of her teacher, who did not seem to mind at all. Though, the moment the new video sprang to life, Christine peeked out from behind her blanket at the sound of expertly played violin music.

"Papa," she sighed, a small smile tugging on her lips as she began to watch.

This video seemed to be filmed on the same day as the last, but now the frame included a middle aged man sitting in an armchair, holding a violin. He shared the same characteristic pale skin and unruly blonde hair as Christine, and he played beautifully, like a seasoned professional. The sound of the violin did not remain alone for long, however, for soon a small child's voice began to sing a song that Christine remembered all too well.

 _Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing._

 _Her hair was as golden as the sun's rays,_

 _and her soul as clear and blue as her eyes._

 _She wheedled her mother, was kind to her doll,_

 _took great care of her frock and her red shoes_

 _and her fiddle, but loved most of all,_

 _when she went to sleep, to hear the Angel of Music._

As mortified as the present Christine was, she could not help but begin to sing along to her younger self, her eyes looking far away as if she were dreaming. She remembered every note, every lilt of that melody which was such an integral part of her childhood. Erik found himself listening more closely to the younger Christine, as the older was singing so quietly that it was only for herself. In that child's voice, he found the little seedlings of beauty which he was so fortunate to discover only a short month ago, and though he normally hated to listen to little squeaking children sing, he found that he did not mind this. It was over as soon as it started, and he was brought back to the present, a fond smile on his face as he looked to the Christine he knew today.

"You were embarrassed of _that_?" He asked her, sympathy and humor in his tone. "Even as a child, you had a wonderful voice."

"That's what I tried to tell her," Mamma agreed, sipping her tea happily. "Her father couldn't get enough of her. He wrote that lullaby for her, in fact, from her favorite bedtime story… anyway, enough of that now. _How was the performance?_ "

"It was superb, Madame," he replied politely, taking a moment to compose himself. If anything, he could not show himself becoming too fond in front of her guardian, that would only end in disaster. "She did great, and everything went according to plan."

"Oh, I'm so glad," Mamma Valerius sighed with relief, a smile washing across her face. "I am so relieved, she gets so nervous…"

"We did have some issues with that in the beginning, but I assure you that she was fine."

"And was she well-received?"

"Like you would not imagine. Her performance was stunning…"

Erik began to relay details of Christine's performance and presence at the reception, including a few funny little anecdotes that resulted in chuckles from her guardian. Soon enough, though, he became curious as to why he hadn't heard anything from Christine in quite a few minutes, looking to her with a twinge of worry before he realized what exactly was wrong. Mamma noticed and looked too, and both of their expressions turned to ones of endearment once they realized she was curled up with her blanket, asleep.

In a rush of emotion Erik would never have admitted to anyone else, he inwardly gushed at the most adorable sight he had ever seen. Why, was Christine Daae causing him to turn soft? Surely not! He stifled the little jump of fondness that nestled its way into his heart, instead taking on the persona of the worried teacher to mask his affection for her. Surely this would work, right?

"Christine…" He called to her, and in his voice was that melodic influence that could easily work its way into anyone's head. "Christine."

Soon, the girl's eyes snapped open and she gave a little jump, blinking a few times to adjust to being conscious. "I'm awake, I'm awake…"

"Like hell you are," Mamma replied softly with a small chuckle, standing and approaching the back of Christine's place on the sofa. "Let me take out your hair, and then you are going to bed."

"Mamma, I'm all right," Christine fussed as her guardian began to pull pins from her hair. It was enough that she had fallen asleep in front of her teacher, but now she was to endure more mothering. "I can do it myself…"

"Hush," the old woman replied firmly, starting to unravel the vast amount of hair that the updo was hiding. "I can mother you whenever I want, thank you very much."

Erik could not stifle the snort of laughter that erupted from his chest at the sight of a very tired and disgruntled Christine being subdued by her grandmother. In fact, it almost seemed like a scene that he should not be there to witness, and he made an offer to leave before he too was strictly hushed.

"Mamma, he probably has someplace to be," Christine tried to argue on his behalf, but it was useless. She would not be swayed.

"And he can go, as soon as he has finished his tea," Mamma replied wittily, a small pile of pins forming in the middle of Christine's lap on the blanket.

"Really, Christine, I am fine," Erik reassured her, honestly having no idea why he was doing so. "This tea is doing me some good, and I will stay until I finish it."

"See? I'm right," Mamma gloated.

"You're a menace," Christine replied humorously.

"A menace with good intentions," Mamma retorted, pulling out the last of the pins. "There, the mane has been unleashed. Now, upstairs, and go to bed. We have Mass in the morning."

Christine begrudgingly left her blanket cocoon to stand and start up the stairs, only turning back once she realized that she left her teacher with her grandmother.

"And hang up that dress, child, so it doesn't wrinkle," Mamma reminded.

"Goodnight, Dr. Carriere," was Christine's only reply.

"Goodnight, Christine."

And with that, the blonde bobbed her way up the stairs, undoubtedly going to be unconscious again in the next few minutes. Mamma Valerius now turned to Erik, who she was alone with, which is just what she wanted. Once she heard the definitive click of Christine's door closing behind her, the old woman pounced on the man who was now determined to make a quiet and polite exit. _Not so fast._

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Mamma asked him, feigning innocence, although it did not make it any less of a loaded question.

This caught Erik completely off guard, and now he was stammering for an answer he wasn't prepared to give. "U-Uh… I suppose so, Madame."

Mamma Valerius merely chuckled, a smile pulling at her face as she remembered just _how fun_ it was to give any potential suitors the inquisition.

"Dr. Carriere, I may be old, but I am not blind." Her tone was pleasant enough, but it still made Erik's heart beat on-edge. "You haven't been able to keep your eyes off of her the entire night, you took her to a big fancy gala, and you have now survived three rounds of tea and smothering from me, mother of all mothers. You're in this for the long-haul."

Erik was unable to contain his shock, and he looked nearly apoplectic as he searched for words that his brain denied him. It was as if this woman, this overbearing, dragon of a guardian was boring into his eyes, reading his every thought like it was a children's picture novel. There was no doubt that she had done this before, where Erik was like a fawn on new legs.

"Madame, I-"

"Oh, stop your worrying. She likes you too."

In addition to his previous symptoms, it now felt as if his eyes were going to burst from his skull. When it became clear that he was not going to reply, as if he was going to incriminate himself further, Mamma continued with her course of action.

"Now, I am going to ask you a few simple questions, and then I will send you on your way." She smiled at him sweetly, which almost lulled him into a false sense of security if it were not for the fierce protective nature behind her eyes. "I really do hate to ask this, as I know it is a sensitive subject, but… the mask. It is for medical reasons, right? An injury? That is all I need to know."

As if he were not already in a deep state of shock, she had now asked about the mask, which made his already skyrocketing sense of vulnerability multiply by about ten thousand. But, if he heard her right, she was _not_ asking him to unmask himself. She was simply asking for an explanation. This he could give her, right? She did not seem upset, or angry, merely like… a mother bear. Yes, he could appease the mother bear, to get what he wanted. Isn't this what he told himself all those weeks ago, when he came over for lunch? Appease the mother bear, and she will let you near her cub.

He began with nodding as an answer, but should speak now…

"Madame," he began, his voice impossibly quiet. He tried to sound more in control, more… confident? but he couldn't stop the trembling in his voice. This ultimately proved to Mamma that she was right in her assumptions. "I assure you that if I did not need to wear this mask, I wouldn't."

"Okay, that's all I needed to know." Her reply was soft, as if she were consoling him, but she remained firm in her trajectory. She very much liked this man, but her first priority was her granddaughter, and her wellbeing. "I very much like you, and I appreciate what you have done for my granddaughter. But, if you hurt so much as a hair on her head, well… I can assure you, it would be very bad for your health. Do I make myself plain?"

Despite having been threatened and assaulted by parties _much_ more formidable than a little old lady, this is the most terrified Erik has ever been. In fact, the woman might as well had pulled a gun on him, for all he cared. In fact, that was even more agreeable than what he was currently grappling with. For once in his life, he was faced with a force as stubborn as himself, who was focused on guarding the only jewel his dragonous heart has ever wished to claim. And, with this in mind, all that came from his trembling frame was a nod in response. _Yes, the grandmother is not a force to be reckoned with_.

"Very good," her speech almost immediately regained its sweet, motherly quality, whiplashing him with her demeanor. "Would you like something for the road, dear? A scone, croissant? You should really eat more."

"N-No, Madame, I am fine," Erik stuttered out, just beginning to recover from his temporary vocal paralysis. Damn, this encounter was going to require something stronger than champagne when he got home.

"Alright, dear," she replied kindly, leading him to the front door and opening it for him. "Drive safely home, and I'm sure I will see you again soon."

"Goodnight, and… thank you," Erik replied awkwardly, finally taking his chance to escape and descending the front steps. As soon as he was out of the house, he breathed a sigh of pure relief, returning to his Mercedes and finding that Francis was taking a nap in the front.

"Good evening, sir," Francis mumbled once he was awake, rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes and adjusting his seat upright once more. "Your residence?"

"Please, Francis."


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note: This chapter is a little short, but this is just how the spacing turned out. I assure you that it is worth it though. Enjoy :))**

Erik grew quite worried when he texted Christine the next morning and she did not reply. Of course, the first possibility that fluttered through his overprotective mind was that she was dead or severely injured, both of which sent him reeling even in the early hours of the morning. Even as logic attempted to convince him that she was just busy, still sleeping, or away from her phone, he still could not shake the worry that surrounded him for her wellbeing. It confused and dazed him, primarily because this was a feeling that he had never felt for another human, or even himself. _What was this feeling born of,_ he asked himself. _If I am to find out why I am feeling this way, it requires that I analyze my relationship with Christine._

Erik, despite his deep passion for the arts and music, has always been a man of science. Logic and reason could bring any problem to its knees, he conjectured, and he hoped that this same rule applied to manners of the heart. Even music was a thing of science to him, knowing which chords were best next to others, which time signatures to use, how harmonies induced human emotion. But human emotion itself was something he was entirely foreign to… except for now. _Yes,_ he thought, absentmindedly pouring himself a cup of coffee _, in order to better understand the problem, I must approach its root. What do I feel for Christine Daae?_

Cup of caffeine in hand and emotions heavy in the heart, Erik migrated to his piano, where his fingers meandered across the keys in an attempt to personify what he was feeling. He first concluded that the feeling was not bad: it was uncomfortable, but in a way that was more physical than anything else. Yes, he felt it most primarily in his stomach and chest, a deep-rooted ache that panged every time he thought of her. Dear God, was he having a myocardial infarction? No, he reasoned, unfortunately he was in good health. That conclusion would only be too easy.

Was it nervousness? He played a few chords and melodies which reminded him of the feeling, but none of them sat right. This was exactly what he felt when conversing with Christine's guardian, also in the moment right before he took off his mask in front of her. But this was not the feeling he had during his normal interactions with his pupil. He did not fear for her reactions anymore, and he did not make a show out of a need to impress her. Moving on.

By this logic, his emotion could not be described by any word under the category of fear or distress. No, he did not fear Christine, and why should he? She was well over a foot shorter than him, weighed as much of a sprite, and did not have a threatening bone in her entire body. In fact, her presence actually served to calm him down, relax his tension, and lift his mood. And, when she left, he found that he longed for the next time he would see her. Back to square one.

He was most definitely very thankful that he had met her, and he was very proud of her achievements. These feelings stemmed from the part of him that remained her teacher, the strict tutor that shaped her voice and demanded perfection in every aspect of her performance. And yet, unlike the unrelenting mentor he had started off as, he realized that he began to enjoy the little imperfections that made Christine… well, Christine. The way her hair seemed to never lay neatly on her head, the way her nose scrunched up when she was concentrating really hard, when her voice squeaked when she was caught off guard… Yes, Christine was perfectly imperfect, and he would not have it any other way. _Then what did he feel for her, if it was not born of scholarly companionship?_

Well, he could now definitely say that Christine was a friend, and he a friend to her. She had confirmed so much on the roof of the opera just last night, and it seemed the sentiment did not change after she witnessed the hideousness of his face. Could it be that Christine wished for his company despite of what he looked like, for the simple reason that she appreciated his genius, and found him entertaining? Oh, this couldn't be, but he wished upon every star in the night sky that this was true. And then, he had to take into account the truly terrifying conversation that he had with Mamma Valerius the previous evening. What did she mean that he _couldn't keep his eyes off her_? Or that Christine _liked him too_? In what way, and what did these mean for him? Were they true?

After sifting through a stifling amount of self loathing and taking an honest view of his behavior, he found that what Madame witnessed was fact. It seemed that, whenever Christine was in the same room as him, she attracted his eyes like a magnet. Separation from her felt like physical pain, and he yearned for her approval and her happiness. He would slice out his own heart and present it to her on a platter if it would please her. _He would die for her._ Oh, God… _he was in love. He loved her._

How did this happen? One moment, he was alone, as solitary in the world as he had always been so accustomed to being. He had decided to take a walk that night, to clear his head and give him a reprieve from the work that was threatening to drown him. He ventured out that night, under the cover of darkness, and he had stumbled upon an angel. An angel in the flesh, all pale skin, golden hair, and rose cheeks, with a voice to match. He, of all people, had the fortune to find a diamond in the dirt of the world… a diamond that he did not deserve.

Of course, this realization brought forth another cascade of self hatred that nearly sent him reeling, one that he spent several minutes recovering from the shock from. How dare he? How dare a gargoyle, a devil like him, have feelings for something so ethereal, so kind and pure? Yes, that little blonde fairy was an angel, with wings that graced the earth with every step she took, and she deserved better. Although no one could match her beauty, she deserved someone that at least came closer than he. She deserved a real man, whose face could touch the sunlight, who could appear at her side without shame or explanation. Someone younger, someone prettier, someone… not him. And perhaps, _he_ was the reason she was not searching. It was his fault! He had trapped her, roped her into spending time with him like a dog, a desperate dog who stole her attention and her wonderful little glances. Perhaps, it was time to let her go, and stop stifling her with his presence that could do nothing but harm.

He would have done so right away, he would have cut ties with her, severing his own heart for her if it meant that she would find more joy in life. It was not too late: he could return her to the world, he could fix what was broken. But, there was no ignoring the other insight of Madame's. Christine likes you too. Whatever did she mean by that? And if her observations about Erik's behavior had been true, what was there to say that these conclusions about his muse were not? After all, she did seem to be a wise old woman, and she obviously knew her granddaughter very well. By that logic, it could be considered true that, yes, Christine did like him. But in what way? Was her admiration of him purely platonic? Erik of course would take this and nothing more, perfectly content with that fact that she tolerated him enough to not run away. That was all he really wanted, you see. If she appreciated his genius and his musical ability, she would continue to take lessons from him, and he could continue to see her. This would not be bad at all, it would be good. But… what if there were more than good? She liked him, Mamma had said. What did that mean? Was putting emphasis on that one word somehow implying deeper meaning, like a socially constructed euphemism? Perhaps. It was very possible, considering the object rarity that Erik had meaningful conversations with anyone now. In fact, he was completely out of touch with the colloquialisms that people used these days. His mind was reeling with the possibilities, but he came to one distinct conclusion: he had to know, and soon. His two options were to let her go, or finally conclude the definition of their relationship, and the former was not something he wanted to do anymore. Not with the possibility of her returning his affections. That only left the latter, and a way to obtain the knowledge he wanted: he needed to ask her on a date.


	20. Chapter 20

As usual for their Sunday mornings, Christine and Mamma Valerius left their phones at home when they went to Mass. For as long as Christine could remember, this was their tradition: sitting in the pews, and not having to worry about their phones or their lives outside of that moment. They enjoyed their time together before moving on with the rest of their day, and sometimes they went out for breakfast after. Christine had come to look forward to it, as it had always acted as a "reset button" for the week ahead: to leave the events of the days previous in the past and move forward with a pure heart.

Christine had also carried the family tradition of singing in the church choir, a tradition that would have made her father very proud. Of course, his church was in Sweden, all those miles away, but she liked to think that they were all somehow connected, and that he was watching over her with pride in his heart. She had missed the last few rehearsals, but the hymns had not changed in several hundred years, so there was no harm done. Her voice was still exhausted from the night before, but she was able to get away with singing softly and not being noticed. Even after all of the voice lessons and the triumph of the previous evening, she was not ready for recognition from the entire congregation. Vanity was a sin, after all.

After the service, both women decided that pancakes at home sounded much better than sitting at a restaurant, considering how tired Christine still was from her late evening last night. A comfortable silence was shared on the way to the car, and it was a little while of Christine staring out the window before it was broken.

"He likes you, you know."

Even though she was not moving before, Christine froze and stiffened immediately, her cheeks going a shade of bright red.

"Mamma! He does not!" She sputtered hotly.

"Does to," Mamma tattled back confidently, the blush on her granddaughter's face was a clear giveaway. "He can't take his eyes off you, love."

"That's not true," She muttered back, her voice now softer due to her embarrassment. "Mamma, he's in his thirties."

"Your grandfather was thirteen years older than me, dear," she reassured her, which only made Christine's face raise a few degrees. "And when your mother married, your father was ten years her senior. Older men run in the family."

Christine did not reply on purpose, mainly because she had no idea what to say. She did not realize it at the time, or she was subconsciously denying it, but she was beginning to harbor feelings for Erik as well. She would not call these feelings of love yet, but then again, she was not recognizing them at all anyway. Even still, she could not deny that she was very fond of him. She cared for him to the point where, when he showed her his face, she was genuinely afraid. Not of what she saw, but of the notion that it would change everything. She had come to appreciate Erik for what he was, his genius; she did not want that to be ripped away by the vanity she feared she possessed. But, to her relief, she found that it changed nothing. Life had dealt her mentor a horrible set of cards, but her rejection would not be added to the stack. Not only could she look past his face, she concluded, but she could recognize it as the probable cause of his gifts. If the entire world has rejected your visage, you must find another way to create and share beauty, which is itself beautiful.

At this point, Christine had been silent for well over two minutes, and Mamma chuckled, once again breaking the silence with her all-knowing insights. After all, the ball only gets to rolling after a little push.

"I'll bet money he's going to ask you out."

"He is not!"

"Oh? Put your money where your mouth is, dear girl."

The rest of the short drive was filled with light, yet playful conversation, mostly bantering and bickering back and forth to pass the time before they arrived home. The house was a welcome sight, mostly because of the images of plush sofas and the smell of warm pancakes ushered both women into the warmth.

Christine put up the tea kettle while Mamma started on a late breakfast. Christine sat at the kitchen island with her phone. What she saw made her face go a little white, but it was too soon to tell.

"Good morning, Christine. I hope you have had ample time to rest from last night. Are you available tonight?"

Probably just for a lesson, Christine thought innocently, mostly to reassure herself. Yes, he just wants to teach me, right? I don't want more than that… do I?

"Yes, I am," she quickly wrote back, setting her phone down for a moment to catch her breath. Mamma turned back to get something from a drawer, and upon seeing the look on her granddaughter's face, nearly beamed out of her skin.

"And do tell me, child of mine, am I to get my tenner so soon?"

"Shut up!" Christine chided back playfully, though there was a seriousness in her tone that gave everything away. "It's probably just for a lesson."

"Just for a lesson," Mamma replied back teasingly. "Let's see about that."

Just then, Christine's phone pinged again, and Mamma looked to it knowingly, as if willing Christine to look. With a shaky, ill-disguised breath, she picked up her phone and flipped it over to reveal the screen, quickly unlocking it and reading the message that was sent. Her face went white, then red, then a mixture of both.

"I was wondering if you have dinner with me, to celebrate your achievement last night."

"Well, what did he say?" Mamma squeaked, bustling around the kitchen to be next to Christine. She peeked on the phone, her smile turning into a little smirk. "Goodness, he's fast. Especially after the scare I gave him last night."

Christine's face went back to white, and her heart stopped. "Mamma, what did you say…?"

"Oh, nothing that any man doesn't normally hear," she replied knowingly. Her granddaughter's expression displayed that she clearly required more explanation, she so she acceded. "Just the you hurt her, I kill you speech, and all that. All very standard procedure."

"MAMMA!"

"Oh hush, dear, you'll strain your voice. He took it very well, poor man. Though I did not think that he would ask this quickly… No matter. You should reply."

Christine held her anger and embarrassment inside for a moment while she formulated a reply, which of course was in the affirmative. As much as her nerves flustered her and wrought her brain with dozens of disastrous scenarios, she was looking forward to seeing him today. Strange, she had seen him less than twelve hours ago.

"I would love to. When should I be ready?"

After a few moments, he replied, as if he was waiting by the phone for a response. Truth be told, he was, with bated breath.

"Seven o'clock. There's no need to dress up, we'll be at my apartment."

"Ooh, his apartment," Mamma teased, giving Christine a knowing look. The blonde responded back promptly with a glare, though it was short lived as her phone pinged again.

"If that is alright with you, of course."

"Yes, that's fine," she replied back before she could overthink it any longer. She had said yes, there was no backing out of it, and she was determined to have a good time. It was time for her to live.

Throughout the rest of the day, Christine found herself strangely attracted to the piano. Besides from practicing her choir repertoire and impressing a friend or two, she hadn't touched the thing in years. It had been a long while since she had played for pleasure, but now it was unavoidable to her. The music - his music - was seeping its way into her very core, and the silence was too much for her to bear. She needed to hear something, especially to stop the anxiety in her head that was threatening to crush her if she did not cope. She needed music, and considering she did not want to tire her voice, she played.

Mamma had taken to lounging in the kitchen and the living room, and she nearly cried in surprise when she heard the soft lilting of piano music drift through the house. Christine had stopped playing a few years ago, the same time that she began to hinder her voice and hide away, afraid of being hurt. Her guardian had tried to pull her from herself, encouraging her to sing in the church choir, sing at school, anything to keep the music in her alive. It was a miracle when she had applied to the Institute, and an even greater act of God when she had gotten in. But it wasn't the same, not until now. There it was, the music beginning to flourish once again. She was getting better.

In fact, Christine was so intently concentrated on the piece she was playing, one that was a little more difficult than she was used to, that she didn't notice or care when the doorbell rang. It was Mamma who had to open the door to the man on the other side.

Erik paled a little when he was met face-to-face with Mamma once more, especially because of the… conversation they had just the previous night. Still, she did not seem at all upset to see him, which he took as a good sign. In fact, she looked… happy.

"She's playing again." The pure joy in Mamma's hushed voice was enough to tell Erik that Christine hadn't done so in a long time.

He was incited in, and left to his own devices to find Christine at the piano in the living room. It wasn't until he stood beside the instrument, looming over her, that she realized he was there. Once she noticed, she stopped playing at once, her cheeks darkening in their signature way.

"I… I'm not very good," she admitted. Her confession reminded Erik of their first encounter, when she also told him of her downfalls. He frowned instantly.

"You do not give yourself enough credit," he corrected her, for a moment taking on the persona of the strict, yet supportive tutor. "You have potential, Christine, and yet you only see the worst in yourself. I will not hear of it anymore."

There was a profound pause, during which Christine tried to avert his gaze in embarrassment, but he would not hear of it. Boldly, he placed one of his long fingers under her chin, forcing her face up to look at him.

"You are intelligent, and talented, and you should not avoid the praise you receive. My shy songbird," that one phrase nearly made her heart combust, "are you ready to go?"

She nodded a little, taking a moment to compose herself before rising from the piano bench. No matter how hard she tried to fight it, there was something about Erik's voice… It made her melt, and she chastised herself silently for her lack of a backbone. And yet, she would do anything for that voice.

And yet, all it asked her to do was to fetch her coat and accompany him to the car. She did so after a quick goodbye from her grandmother, who was trying very hard not to intrude, but there was something to be said about motherly love. As the mind-numbing effects from Erik's melodious words faded, she was left in the comfortable, warmed leather of his Mercedes, taking them into the heart of the city.


	21. Chapter 21

"You did very well last night, Christine." Erik was the first to break the silence, his voice plain. "I am very proud."

"Thank you," she replied softly, the blush returning to her cheeks. "I don't remember most of it, to be honest. I stepped onto the stage and it was all over…"

"That tends to happen," he replied humorously. "It is natural, I assure you. When you start to perform more, the adrenaline won't take over as much."

She nodded, simply hoping that what he said was true. As it was, it was several bouts of anxiety and crying before she finally went on stage, and she didn't know how many more times she could do that, especially for a performance longer than ten minutes. While she thought to herself, he pulled into the valet parking of his apartment building, which made her realize that they had spent the majority of the drive in silence. She was being a very bad guest.

"Sorry," she apologized nervously. "I'm not being very interesting."

"Thank goodness, then, that I am not expecting you to be." His voice was lighthearted and reassuring, and despite his casual words, it took on the melt-y quality that she loved so much. This caused her to relax a little in her own skin, which Erik noticed, but did not mention. He hated how anxious she was, and he was determined to change that. He concluded that he could, mainly because it seemed she was mostly nervous, but not afraid. She had no reason to fear him.

"Make yourself at home," he told her kindly as he showed her into the large penthouse. Of course, she had been there a few times now, and she knew where everything was. "Fireplace?"

She nodded, and with a small smile followed him into the kitchen, inviting herself to sit at one of the stools in the bar. She allowed herself to indulge in some surface conversation, which mainly consisted of Erik asking her about her day, if she slept well, and all of his usual questions that broke the silence between the two.

"I went to Mass this morning," she told him, smiling at the thought. "We go every Sunday, but sometimes we don't make it to morning service and go in the evening. But we made it today, and I could sing with the choir. I missed last week."

"You sing with your church choir?" He asked curiously, turning his head to look at her from the fridge.

"Yeah, it's been fun. I know that it probably wasn't great for me to sing so early after last night, but… I don't know. It seemed like the right thing to do."

"Your speech sounds just fine, so you most likely did not strain anything," he reassured her, starting to pull ingredients from the fridge and placing them on the counter.

"You're… cooking?" She asked suddenly, a little surprised. Okay, a lot surprised. "You know how to cook?"

"I have a recipe," he replied, not really answering the question. "How hard can it be?"

"Do you want help?"

"Of course not!" He exclaimed, though it was clear he wasn't angry. "You're my guest, Christine. You should be relaxing and sipping tea and… well, whatever else guests do. Speaking of which…"

The kettle that he had put on was just starting to scream, and he took it off the heat to pour her a cup of tea. She thanked him, though it seemed like she had gone slightly back into herself. She was thinking, and it looked like she was going to say something. Luckily, she did not need prompting before she was finally out with it.

"Um… Erik?" He turned to face her then, from his place at the stove. "You… You don't have to wear that. The mask, I mean… if you don't want to. I've seen now, and it's okay. I don't want you to be uncomfortable, and this is _your_ home."

Erik simply stared at her for a moment, simply because this was not what he was expecting. At worst, he was expecting questions about why his face looked like a corpse, and at best, maybe she wanted to know how his day went. But never did he expect for her to…

"Really?" The hopeful, almost childish question escaped from his lips before he could stop himself. He mentally kicked himself instantly. _Stupid Erik! She was surely hoping for you to politely decline, which you will do right now._ "Oh, but dear Christine, you do not know what you are asking."

"I… I'm not asking for anything. If you feel better with it on, then that's fine. I just didn't want you to think you were obligated to cover yourself for me."

 _All he wanted to do was to take that damn mask off_. The thought tempted him painfully, taunted him until he could barely hear himself think. He pushed some of the uncomfortable feelings down, simply turning back to the stove to start adding things to the heated pan. Yes, a distraction. Good.

"I won't make you look at me," he mumbled, so low that he doubted she would be able to hear. "Especially not while you eat. It's cruel."

Christine opened her mouth to reply, but she didn't find the point in arguing. She did not want to make him upset by making him think she was forcing his hand, and she knew that if he felt comfortable, he would take it off in due course.

He was not planning on taking off the mask, but there was a factor he was not expecting. The area around the stove had become exceptionally hot and steamy, and for normal people, this would not have been a problem. But, with the mask… it was torture. Several times, making sure that his back was to her and she was not looking, he would swipe the mask off to pat his face dry, only for a moment before replacing it. But there was only so much longer he could do this, he found, and the need was becoming more frequent. _Damn it!_ He could never win, could he? Even cooking dinner for someone he admired, he could not win just this once. Perhaps, she would allow him… He didn't even want to ask…

"Christine?" His voice, normally so confident and enchanting, was now soft and timid. He sounded like a child, a desperate child, seeking comfort from the impending darkness. It broke her heart. "I… I know I said I wouldn't, and you can still say no-"

"Of course, Erik." She cut him off the moment she understood what he was asking, trying her best to make her voice sound reassuring. "Of course you can."

His only response to her was the smallest of nods, and slowly he turned his back on her again, tending to the contents of his pan. Cooking, no pun intended, had kind of been put on the back burner, and now he wasn't even sure what step he was on. No matter, there were more important things that needed his attention.

With painful slowness, a trembling hand reached to the back of his head, tugging free the ribbon the secured the mask onto his face. He hesitated another few moments before finally removing it from his face, and even though he knew she couldn't see, he could not help but shudder. _She didn't deserve this. She was trying to be strong for him, to be a good guest, and he was taking advantage of her kindness._ Even still, he felt a thousand times better once the mask was off, a burst of fresh air hitting his face in the most wonderful way. He had forced himself to become used to the feeling of confinement, but the reality was that no one was meant to live life behind a mask.

"So, how long have you lived here?" Christine asked cheerily, knowing painfully well that he needed all of her support at the moment. How strange: the formidable, illustrious headmaster of the most selective conservatory in the world needed _her_ reassurance. Even so, she was determined to give it to him, especially after she watched him set the mask on the counter.

"I have lived in Paris for about a decade now," he replied softly, fighting to steady his voice. For the first time, it didn't want to cooperate. "But I moved into this apartment about two years ago. It has been good to me."

"It's really spacious, and the acoustics are wonderful," Christine commented, directing the attention away from his face. Thankfully, it seemed to be working, but something else caught her attention. "Erik, something is burning."

This finally snapped him out of his daze, and he let out several choice curses as he realized that yes, something was burning. He grabbed a spatula or something off of the counter, anything to try to salvage this mess. He continued to mutter curses under his breath, until he noticed… something, to his left in his peripheral vision. Something blonde.

Christine had come to help, bless her. He immediately turned a little to his right, trying to save her from the sight of his face, but it was too late. She had seen, again. He immediately reached for his mask, but he had not accounted for her reflexes. Something small, soft, and so _incredibly warm_ caught hold of his wrist, and for a moment, Christine had not even realized what she had done. Slowly this time, her other hand came to wrap around Erik's, although it was much too small to get any firm grasp on it. Just his fingers were the length of her entire hand. His skin was cool to the touch, which was a little alarming, though not uncomfortable. She stroked his knuckles for a moment, in a gesture of amazing absent-minded tenderness, finding the skin there soft, but heavily calloused. _Piano hands_. After a moment or two, no more, she had let go of him. Erik initially worried that his hands had distressed her, and he was once again mentally kicking himself until he realized her true reason for leaving his hand. She was turning off the knobs to the stove, looking down at… well, whatever was in the pan. So much for a romantic gesture.

"Um… What was it supposed to be?" She asked, hoping she was not offending him. To her relief, once she had let go of him, he did not continue to reach for the mask. _Progress._

"Ankbröst med lingonsås," he replied sheepishly, his face visibly turning pink. "Duck with lingonberry sauce… I… wanted to make something special. For you."

He was absolutely mortified now, especially because of the depth of his gesture, suddenly feeling very stupid. _Of course she would not appreciate a butchered version of her native cuisine, you dolt!_ He would have been much better off ordering something from a restaurant, he realized much too late. What were they to do now?

"Oh, Erik…" The sound of his name was enough to shake him from himself, and instinctively he turned to look down at her. She was looking back up to him, and suddenly he remembered that he was very, very bare. Mercifully, there was not a single inkling of distress on her lovely features, but even so he felt a painful pang of guilt strike his chest. _Oh, Christine…_ "That was so sweet of you. Do you have any extra ingredients?"

"Uh, yes, though I probably won't get it right the second time either," he murmured quickly, before realization dawned on him. "Christine… you don't need to cook for me. I would never ask you to-"

"It's okay," was all she said, and with a little smile, she went to the fridge.

He had extra of all the ingredients she needed, which was fortunate, and after she pulled everything out she started to scrape Erik's attempt into the bin. She would have tried to salvage it, if it had not been for the fact that it was quite burnt and sad-looking. She started over, and Erik noticed that she did not glance once at the recipe that was pulled up on his laptop. When he asked absentmindedly about it, desperate to pull the attention away from his face, she only smiled. Did she even care that she was in the company of a monster?

"Every good Swede knows how to make lingonberry sauce," she joked, stirring the pot and turning it down to simmer. "Actually, would you like to help me?"

"Of course, anything you need." He had been sitting on a stool at the island, feeling quite guilty that he was forcing her to make them dinner. This was not how he envisioned the night going, and he did not want her getting the idea that she was only there to serve him. _How rude of him!_

"Wash the potatoes, then chop them into cubes, if you could," she instructed him. As he did so, she stirred her sauce again, heating another pan on the stove for the duck. She seemed to be in full capability of what she was doing, which helped Erik to calm down dramatically. Somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, he could feel grateful that dinner was no longer his responsibility.

Time seemed to go by in a leisurely way now, and most of the cooking period was spent in light conversation. Once, there was a long stretch of silence, during which Erik's heart nearly melted when he heard Christine softly humming to herself as she cooked. He had put the mask back on by this point, which Christine had noticed, but not commented on, and he seemed to feel much better when he was not exposed. He had invited a siren into his home, a thing of pure, unmatched beauty. And he was not going to force her to stare at a gargoyle.

Her humming soon turned into soft singing, which she had a tendency to do when she was concentrating on something. This time, it was the duck, which was now seasoned and cooking in the pan, making a delightful hissing sound as it crisped. She was singing a little French folk song, which Erik found sounded incredibly beautiful in her comfortable upper register. Then again, her voice was always beautiful to him.

 _Hier matin je m'y levai  
Laissez-moi planter le mai  
Vers le bois je m'en allai  
En riant tout en riant  
Laissez-moi planter le mai  
Moi qui suis gentil galant._

"You sound beautiful," he plucked up the courage to say, once again taking a seat on the stool. This caused her to look up, a blush creeping across her ivory cheeks.

"Oh, I didn't even realize I was singing," she murmured, turning back to the stove in an attempt to hide the rose hue of her skin. _God, Christine, pull yourself together._

"You never do." He stated simply, his soft baritone sounding like pure velvet. "Music runs in your blood, Christine. I am certain you would perish without it. We are the same, in that regard."

She didn't say anything, though it was clear that she had heard what he said. He was not upset in the slightest, simply watching her with guarded affection as she made two plates of dinner. When she picked them up and turned around, he was right behind her, causing her to jump a little in surprise and nearly drop the plates. His movements were absolutely silent, and she was under the impression that he was still sitting down. With a little chuckle, he took the plates from her, leading her to the dining room.


	22. Chapter 22

He instructed her to sit at the table, where two place settings were already set out. After she was comfortably seated in a chair, he disappeared into the kitchen, returning shortly with a bottle of red wine. A vintage, Christine noticed.

"You're letting me drink?" She asked hopefully, a hint of teasing in her tone.

"Just one glass, considering that you will not be singing tonight," he instructed, pouring her glass before his. "Actually, that needs to be discussed."

"Hmm?" She answered him in a noncommittal fashion, sipping her wine, which was absolutely delicious.

"You have made your debut, of sorts, and what you eat now is very important. All consumption of alcohol, coffee and caffeine, soda, and dairy has to stop."

She knew this was coming. Of course, she did not expect it to be so soon, but she knew that eventually she would need to keep a better eye on what she ate. As a singer, what passed through the throat was very important, yet she still couldn't help but groan. She lived in Paris, where the main food groups were wine and cheese.

"Yes, I know," he cooed, sounding humorously condescending. "Your life must be so difficult."

Yes, it is!" She replied back, sounding playfully indignant. "Do you know how much milk I put into these potatoes? That's why they're so delicious."

"Actually, everything on this plate is delicious." Usually, Erik would refrain from eating in front of others, but he knew that he could not refuse after Christine had spent her time and effort preparing this for him. In fact, he found the thought quite endearing, and it did much to stimulate his appetite.

"Thank you," she replied softly, and he was proud that she was finally able to accept a compliment. "Mamma was very adamant on teaching me to cook, and I am glad that it has finally come in handy."

"She cares about you very much," Erik stated simply, taking a sip of his wine before returning to his food. Both of them simultaneously remembered what had occurred the previous night, Erik remembering the conversation and Christine remembering what her guardian had admitted to her. She immediately blushed red, averting her gaze.

"I had no idea that she was going to speak to you, and I would like to apologize on her behalf," Christine confided in him, though there was no doubt of the humor in her tone. "She seems to forget that I am an adult-"

"Christine," he cut her off, raising a hand in a calming manner. His voice became even softer and velvety when speaking her name, trying to reassure her. "I appreciate very much that you have someone so protective of you. It makes me feel better, especially when you are not with me. I… I have grown very fond of you."

This was the closest that Erik has gotten to a confession of love, ever. He was quite surprised at his sudden courage, but he knew that he could not take it back now, and it would lose its meaning if he attempted. At first, Erik was very worried that he had upset her, but it was quite the contrary. Actually, she looked… smitten. Could such an innocent creature be in possession of that emotion, he wondered? Christine did not think her cheeks could deepen their rose hue, but upon his words, they did. She had accepted his words, and even if she lacked the courage to return the sentiment, he considered it a victory all the same. She was comfortable with his affection for her! Erik decided to be bold then, reaching the short distance between then and using a finger to lift her chin from her chest. He forced her to look at him, partly because in his mind, he wanted her to face him. He wished for her to see his feelings for her, despite how ashamed of it he was.

"You are so pretty when you blush, Christine," he murmured absentmindedly, more like a purr than anything else. He was using her name quite often, for two reasons. Once, he noticed that when he did so, especially in his velvety soft way, it caused her to melt a little, which is exactly where he wanted her. And two, he simply loved the way it sounded, and he appreciated his privilege of being able to say it.

His speech had her captivated and his gentle touch kept her still, so that he could take a long, unashamed look at her eyes. They were the most spectacular crystal blue, and every time he snuck a passing glance at them, his heart would stop. Now, he was staring into those swirling oceans, and he was flatlining, sure he was dead. And if he was, he did not care in the slightest.

And, just seconds after the moment began, it stopped as he lowered his hand from her chin and let her go. By this time, it was very clear that they were done with dinner, and in his same, silky tone, he asked her if she was finished. She nodded, allowing him to take her plate from her, too lost in thought to consider how rude she was being for not offering to help clean up. His touch had set her skin on fire, and he could most definitely feel her fluttering pulse as it raced under her skin. What was he doing to her, and how? She had never felt this way before, and under any other circumstance she would have found it quite inappropriate to allow this feeling to blossom in the very core of her heart. He was her teacher, her headmaster, and she should control herself, lest he decide that she was getting too close and expel her. But he wasn't going to do that, wasn't he? Every advance, every inch closer the two became, it was his doing. Of course, she was not doing anything to stop it, and she welcomed it with open, albeit a little timid, arms. Somewhere deep in her consciousness, she wanted this, and she was unable to see that the man who was sitting across from her wants the same. They were two stars, orbiting each other at a distance, pulled closer and closer in until the gravity between them would become insurmountable. Soon, they would collide.

The sound of the sink running in the kitchen was enough to shake her from her thoughts, and she realized anew that she had left him with the mess. Embarrassed and ashamed by more reasons than one, she soon appeared at his side in front of the sink, rolling up her sleeves with a sheepish apology.

"Absolutely not," he replied firmly. "I will not have you clean after you so graciously cooked for us. You are my guest."

"You helped cook, and I can help clean," she argued, looking up to him with big, pleading eyes. He did not look at her, knowing her tactics very well, and refused to pay them any mind.

"The answer is no, and it will remain no. I will take care of the dishes, and while I do so, you will go make yourself comfortable in front of the fireplace. Perhaps we will watch a movie, if you decide to behave."

Despite the apparent humor in his tone, there was no room for argument in his command. Although she wanted to help, she understood that this was the time for obedience. He was always in a much better mood when she did as she was told, and so with a little nod and soft words of thanks, she disappeared into the living room.

When he joined her after finishing the dishes, he was delighted to find that she had indeed made herself comfortable. She had taken off her shoes, which she left by the front door, and curled up on one side of the sofa. She appeared to have found a blanket, which was wrapped around her and currently being warmed by the fire. Erik dared to sit on the other end of the sofa instead of his armchair, giving into his need to feel close to her. Just her presence was intoxicating, and he barely had the mind to pick up the remote off of the side table. Yes, movie, I promised her.

He asked her what she wanted to watch, to which she responded with a very noncommittal answer. He turned on Netflix, and after absentmindedly browsing for a few moments, settled on something that Christine was marginally interested in and he was indifferent towards. Both of them understood that the actual movie did not matter so much as the action of being together. Both of them were beginning to warm up to the idea of one another's companionship, and for the first time that night, they did not feel as nervous.

The movie was not bad, but then again neither of them were focusing on it much. In fact, Erik took more to looking at her than paying attention to the screen. Even in such a casual setting, sitting on the sofa wrapped in a blanket, she was absolutely radiant to him. From the way the light glinted off her hair, to the ivory of her skin, and the slope of her nose, Erik felt like a man starved as he drank in the sight of her. Luckily for his ego, she did not seem to notice, but because of this Erik was witnessing her doing something very odd. Slowly, slow enough to not notice it herself, she was inching closer to him, as if attracted by an unseen magnetic force that was pulling her closer to the other side of the sofa. He simply watched her with a mixture of shock and dull amusement until she herself realized what she was doing. And, instead of returning to her spot away from him, like he predicted, she simply relocated to the middle third of the sofa, right next to him! She must have noticed his shock, because her cheeks blushed once more and she prepared to move back, assuming that she had offended him in some way. But then, upon noticing that she was retreating, he did the most spectacular thing.

He took her hand. One moment, it was resting on her lap, and the next it was wrapped in the cool touch of Erik's long, spindly piano fingers. As she was frozen in surprise, for this was a gesture that she could not have predicted, she swore she could hear him sigh with the joy of her touch. In fact, he did sigh, for her skin was so soft and warm that it pulled that sound of breathless happiness from his lungs without any hope of controlling himself. They stayed like that for a few moments, Christine quickly recovering from her shock and coming to enjoy the incredibly gentle grasp Erik had on her wrist and her fingers, and Erik now sitting frozen and revelling in the pleasure of her touch. And, by some miracle, she didn't run away!

"Is this okay?" He breathed, knowing that even in the depths of his happiness, her consent still dominated his every action. The air around them was now laced with electricity, and her little nod only added to the tension. He forced his breathing to remain even, and once he composed himself, he continued.

"And this as well?" At first, she did not understand what he was referring to, but it soon became clear when his hand left hers and disappeared behind her back. A moment later, she felt the gentle weight of his arm around her shoulders. She nodded in response, and slowly she leaned back so that her back was resting against his side.

Oh, he could quite literally die then. The gentle weight of her body against his was simply intoxicating, and he vowed to savor every moment of it, lest it never happen again. How did he become his lucky? Certainly, he had to do something monumentally good to deserve this, for right now, he considered himself the most fortunate man in the entire universe. If it had taken him a lifetime of suffering and solitude for this one moment, then it was a lifetime well spent.

"Is this okay?" A little voice from somewhere below him whispered, presumably asking how he felt about the current arrangement.

"Oh, Christine…" He sighed, her name sounding like a reverent chant on his lips. "I have never been happier."

Suddenly, Erik shifted a little to his side, ever so gently adjusting the angel in his lap so that she was now lying against his chest. His frame was thin, yet sturdy, and Christine relaxed into him without a hint of protest. He could now quite easily cry with joy, but he restrained himself for her sake, understanding that concerning her would put an end to this moment much sooner than he would ever want. She was so small, and she seemed to nestle perfectly into his chest, the top of her head resting gently near his collarbone. He knew then that he had her complete trust, musing happily that she was almost made to be held as her warmth radiated into his chest. Oh, what she did to him.

Now, Erik had another predicament, one whose solution did not come to him right away: he had no idea what to do with his hands. For now, they rested at his sides, though he yearned to wrap them around her waist, to hold her close, to run them through her golden hair. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb her, lest she grow uncomfortable and end what he was so thoroughly enjoying already. Perhaps, if he asked her nicely, she would say yes or no, and no matter the answer, she would stay right where she was.

"May I?" He asked, whispering ever so softly in her ear, his hands hovering a few inches above her body. She had closed her eyes, but by the movement of his upper arms against hers, she could easily deduce what he was asking for. She nodded, and with extraordinary tenderness, she felt his arms wrap around her torso, holding her gently to him.

Of course, he began to understand that there were some things he could do without asking, but he always found it better to err on the side of caution, especially when it came to someone he enjoyed the company of so dearly. Because of this, he remained the image of a gentleman, and when a comfortable silence enveloped them, he broke it by asking her how she felt.

"Do you prefer it when I ask you before I do things, Christine?" His voice was but a purr in her ear, so soft and warm that it disarmed her immediately.

"A lot, actually," she replied truthfully, fully relaxing against him as she said so. She could hardly believe this was happening, but she was so comfortable that she could not dwell so much on her shock. Being there with him felt as natural as breathing, and it brought a warmth to her body that wasn't there before. "I… I get nervous, sometimes, and it's nice to know what you're intending on doing before you do it… That probably sounds stupid."

"Not at all, my dear." The term of endearment rolled off his tongue with ease now, and while it made her blush, she found that she enjoyed it. "I would like you to understand that nothing, absolutely nothing, will happen if you do not wish it to."

She nodded, and she found that with all her heart, she believed him. Wrapped in his arms, this was the safest she had ever felt, so at ease that she allowed herself to close her eyes and simply enjoy this moment. How could someone who made her feel this calm ever do her harm? To Erik's guarded delight, he could feel how relaxed she was, and he had to fight the urge to jump for joy. She was not afraid of him! She was allowing him to hold her, like any other man would, in the comfort of his own home. The thought of her enjoying his closeness almost made his heart burst, and in his mind, there was only one thing that could make this better.


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note: Here it is, the chapter you have all been waiting for. May the fluff commence, enjoy.**

There was only one thing that could make this better.

"Christine?" He called softly to her, as if he were afraid to frighten her in such a state of relaxation. "Would it be all right if I sang to you?"

"Only if I could join you," she replied quickly, as if she were thinking of the same thing. An amused smile spread across his lips then, and without another thought, one of his hands ran itself through her hair. She did not seem to mind at all, rather enjoying the feeling of his fingers over her scalp.

"You want a lesson? Of course we can, though it's late-"

"No," she replied simply, a smile that he could not see gracing her lips. "I just want to sing. With you."

Her sudden forwardness both surprised and delighted him, and a soft, familiar chuckle escaped his lips before he had the sense to speak. "Well, I suppose we will have to get up off of this couch, then."

The sound of a playful groan could be heard from Christine's direction, but eventually she made the effort to move. She sat up, and after a quick stretch, she stood and waited for him to join her. The sudden lack of warmth had left Erik feeling tempted to simply pull her back into him and never let go, but he reminded himself that restraint and patience could yield fantastic reward. He stood, and was once again reminded of the comical height difference between the two. He towered over her, and in a moment of pure delight, he found that she was not afraid.

The height discrepancy was solved once Erik was seated at his piano, running his fingers lovingly over the ivory keys in a moment of reverence. The moment Christine revealed that she wanted to sing with him, he knew just the piece he wanted to sing, and the sheet music materialized from the stack without much searching. Though, for now, he simply played a chord, looking to her with an affectionate expression.

"Scales. I will not hear of you straining your voice by using it cold."

She rolled her eyes playfully at him, a gesture that she would have never dared display during the early days of his tutelage. Now, though, their time at the piano failed to strike fear into Christine's heart. Instead, she simply sang for him, relaxed and eager to please as she watched him melt at the sound of her voice. Considering the overwhelming majesty of his own, she always encountered a fair bit of confusion when her voice brought him so much joy, but she decided not to question it. He wanted to hear her, really hear her, and she would give him that pleasure.

Christine knew that she was in good voice that day, and after she warmed up with scales, he jumped straight into the duet from Faust. He needed his copy for the piano accompaniment, but he knew his part by heart, and so did she.

This was the first time the two had truly sung together. Of course, there were the times that Erik would sing to her, whether it be soft humming or lullabies, his gentle melodies wrapping around her like gossamer veils upon her vision. Then there were the times he sang only to display technique or point out a flaw in her voice, the only goal in his mind for this being correction and perfection. But now, as their voices intertwined in the most breathtaking display of unity and power, there was not a scholarly bone in Erik's body. He had taught her enough in those past weeks, made enough adjustments to her tone and technique to last a lifetime. Now, it was time for him to revel in his creation, to share in the joy of what they had accomplished.

Erik's voice, playing Faust, was the epitome of power, the height of devotion to the angel that shared the acoustics of the room. Singing alongside him, Christine's own voice soared to heights she had not thought possible, and in the safety and comfort of his home, she sang Marguerite with a grace that could make Erik weep. She had let go of all fear, of all apprehension of her inadequacy, until her voice had become the perfect companion to his. Lost in the music, they had become one, in a way they had never thought possible, hoping that this moment would never end. But alas, they had started at the end of the opera, and soon there was no more music to be sung. They ended together on one spectacular note, a feeling which Christine could only compare to her soul leaving her body, before it was silent. Echoes of their note still floating in the high ceilings, Erik stood, unable to control his impulse any longer. His hands wrapped around her shoulders, effectively keeping her close to him as he bent to her level, and in a moment of bliss, he took her lips for his own.

That kiss changed everything. The feeling that was welling up inside him for weeks, threatening to eat him alive, was now released like a tidal wave through his lips. Panic was now replacing that dull ache in his heart, for he had never been so open in his entire life, but he found that the feeling was preferable to whatever he was enduring before. _Let her hate me_ , he thought, though he hoped that this would not be the case. _At least I won't have to hide anymore._ The way he felt for her terrified him, the love he had never felt before was consuming him like a monsoon, and yet he could not stop. Suddenly, the taste of salt invaded his lips, and he quickly recognized them as tears, but he could not tell who they had come from. He quickly realized that he was crying, and yet so was she. _Oh God, he had upset her_. She was angry with him now, he was sure of it, and yet he could not say he regretted it. It felt like Atlas, and the world had just been lifted from his shoulders.

Too soon for his liking, Erik released Christine from his kiss, but in an instinctual move to be closer to her, he cupped her face in his hands, looking down upon her with a mixture of anticipation, concern, and remorse.

"Christine, I…" He started, trying to find some way to explain himself, if she was indeed as angry as he expected. But, he trailed off, losing his words when a small, knowing smile caressed her lovely features.

Christine loved him. She was not going to try to deny it now, despite how odd she found this act of fate. Of course, Christine was quite the sensible girl, and she did not believe an ounce of the _love at first sight_ mantras that plagued her childhood storybooks. This was definitely not love at first sight, but she never expected it to come as quickly as it did. Especially when her first few meetings with Erik absolutely terrified her. He was the headmaster that no one had ever seen, his reputation one of harsh punishment and little negotiation. He had aimed for fear to strike the hearts of his students the moment they heard his name, and he had succeeded. It was how he had managed to keep a tight hold on this institution for as long as he had. It had worked in his favor all other times before, except with Christine.

In order for their arrangement to be successful, she could not be afraid of him. She had learned not to be afraid, but the lack of fear called desperately for something else. And the closer he ventured, due to his own affections, the stronger her attachment became, until she could no longer imagine her days without him. He occupied so much of her time, first and foremost with lessons, but now with other things - this night, being one of them. At first, she was shocked that he had wanted to spend time with her, just as much as he was shocked when she agreed. He was her teacher, and she believed herself a means to an end. Of course, she did not mind being a bolster to his reputation, especially if she got a career in the process, but she never imagined that their relationship would be anything more than that. She had pushed her feelings down, forced them into obscurity, believing that they would never be required. But, here was the proof, the undeniable evidence that he in fact loved her too. So now, she could admit it to herself: she loved him. The relief of admitting that to herself was enough to make tears flow from her eyes, and she let them fall, for embarrassment was much too mundane an emotion for this event. She loved him, and now that Erik could see so, he was able to finally be happy.

He could not help but to place another kiss upon her lips, then another on her forehead, but these were short and sweet, unlike the release of passion that was their first. Afterwards, he gently pulled her to his chest, and if he was being honest, he was at a complete loss of what to do now. He actually didn't think he would make it this far.

"Oh, Christine…" Her name was but a sigh from his lips, a hand reaching up to stroke her hair. "No one has ever kissed me before."

It took Christine a few moments to reply, for the shock of it all had just begun to hit her, and she needed some time. After a few cycles of breath, she had sufficient strength to speak, and she did so against Erik's chest.

"That was my first, too."

This confession elicited a little gasp from Erik, who promptly held her out in front of him, both hands on her shoulders, looking down upon her in unadulterated surprise.

"Surely I was not your first! Some handsome boy must have been fawning on you in high school, no doubt!"

Christine simply shook her head, a playful gesture accompanied by a little smile which made Erik's heart melt instantly. Quickly, she was pulled back into his chest, for the separation was beginning to grow too much for him.

"You are the most beautiful thing to ever roam this earth," he murmured earnestly, tears continuing to trickle down and under his mask. "And I do not know what I did to deserve meeting you."

"I could say the same about you," Christine replied softly, closing her eyes in order to better enjoy the sensation of being held.

"Surely not. I do not deserve you, Christine, but I will spend our time together begging you to stay." His honesty and humility were enough to threaten Christine with new tears, but she held them back. This was not the occasion for crying anymore, and she knew it. After a few more moments of their embrace, she suggested that they return to the sofa, to which Erik replied, "I would love nothing else."

Soon, they migrated back to the sofa, where they assumed their previous position of Christine leaning against Erik. An arm was wrapped around her waist, and another began to consistently run through her hair after Erik noticed how much she liked it. The fire was still burning in the hearth, which cast their surroundings in a dull, warm glow. Despite the fact that they were still quite unaccustomed to each other's touch, they could both attest that this was the most relaxed they had ever been. In fact, Erik could not think of a time when he was happier than now. No, not even her triumph at the gala would match this for him.

Somewhere deep in his mind, he was still terrified that this was some sort of sick dream, an illusion of his mind that would end as soon as something went wrong. As with all his nightmares, he would wake up screaming, alone and unwanted, and she would return to the heavens where she belonged. He knew that he did not deserve her, understood deep in his bones that he owed some debt to the universe for the chance to touch her. Even if it cost him an eternity in hell for the feeling of her gentle weight against him, it was well worth it, and he would enjoy it as much as he could.

Christine had closed her eyes then, sinking happily into the strong structure of Erik's chest. He was quite thin, but he was sturdy and now warm from the fire, which was a winning combination. She breathed in the smell of pine trees and worn leather, and paired with the rhythmic sensation of his fingers combing through her hair, she was already beginning to drift off.


	24. Chapter 24

"If I fall asleep, just wake me up," Christine murmured softly, not wanting this moment to end. She knew she would be quite embarrassed if she fell asleep in his arms, but it was so warm, and becoming unavoidable if she didn't fight to keep awake.

"I will do no such thing," he replied in a soft, yet firm manner. "Christine, I don't want to assume, but it is getting very late… are you staying here tonight?"

She hadn't even thought of the time, but once he mentioned it, heat rushed back to her cheeks and she opened her eyes. He had meant it as a simple yes or no question, the answer to which he did not mind either way, but it immediately made her think of how rude she was being. Mamma had taught her better than to impose herself on other people, and now she felt infinitely worse about keeping him so late.

"I hadn't even thought about it," she admitted, which she realized was a poor excuse. "I should have, and I'm sorry, I know you're busy-"

"Do you think that I am upset with you?" He asked, and while his voice maintained its softness, it remained an open-ended question.

"You have every right to be. I have kept you up very late, and probably overstayed my welcome."

"Overstayed your-" he cut himself off, looking down on her which a mixture of sympathy and surprise. "I never implied that I wanted you to leave. You do, however, have class tomorrow, and I would prefer it if you slept soon."

"I… I suppose I could sleep here." she replied meekly, after a few moments of thought. The last thing she wanted to do was annoy him, and her own insecurity was convincing her that she was. "Of course, if it isn't an inconvenience-"

"You are never an inconvenience to me," he stated firmly, and though he much regretted doing so, he began to shift from underneath her so he could get up. She responded immediately, sitting up so that she wasn't in his way, taking her warmth with her. Oh, how Erik wished he could hold onto her warmth and never let go. How selfish of him, he scolded himself. "Actually, you staying here means that I don't have to drive you home. Now, I assume that you didn't bring clothes to sleep in."

"No, but I can easily sleep in this," she reassured him, though he seemed less than impressed. He shook his head, merely instructing her to wait there while he disappeared down a hallway, assumingly into his own bedroom. He returned after a short while, presenting her with a small bundle of black fabric. She took it, immediately giving a little sigh at the wonderful softness that grazed her fingertips.

"Are these silk?" She asked curiously, running her thumb over the lapel of what she assumed was a night shirt.

"Yes, of course. You think I would give you anything else?"

She wanted to assure him that her standards were pretty low, considering she slept in sweatpants and t-shirts most nights, but she decided that arguing against his kindness was not smart. She simply thanked him, and in a move that knocked the air from his lungs, she stole a kiss from his masked cheek while he was still bent to her level. Immediately afterwards, though, she blushed a shade of deep crimson, realizing what she had just done. Once he straightened, Erik looked down to her with an expression of guarded astonishment, to which she responded with a sheepish smile. Both of them were quite unsure of what to do, for this was all so new and neither of them knew how to navigate these uncharted waters. He loved her, and although neither of them were ready to admit that yet, he could tell that she adored him all the same.

After a few breaths, which he desperately needed to retain his composure, he led her to the guest bedroom across from his own. The room was lovely, painted white with matching furniture, following the modern style of the rest of his home. No one had used this bedroom before, save for the few times which Erik's only friend crashed there after a late night of chess and too much wine. He began to wonder how Nadir was doing, considering he had only seen him twice in the past month, but he put the thought out of his mind for now. Erik supposed that Christine's stay there was much in the same category, but this was different, he was convinced. He had given her the option to go home, and perhaps it was more convenient this way, but either way she had decided to stay.

When he left her to change and go to sleep, Christine now learned that she was rather reluctant to be alone. She had underestimated how much she enjoyed his company, and now that she was alone with her thoughts, all she could do was think about what had transpired that night. He had kissed her, her true first kiss, and even the thought made her lips tingle with the sensation she assumed she would have to become familiar with. He was older than her, and her teacher, and yet that kiss came with nothing but a feeling of naturality. Is this what love felt like? Mamma had explained the concept to her many times over her formative years, and yet it was another thing entirely to truly feel it. It made her heart flutter, and yet it also felt like she was coming home, warmed by a feeling that she didn't even know she was capable of having.

But, she thought to herself as she undressed, there were other things to be considered as well. He had kissed her, and she had accepted to be kissed. She had allowed him, quite willingly, to hold her in his arms in front of the fire, in his own home no less. What else was he expecting? Was he expecting more? As she remembered, he was older than her, but what did that imply, and what did he want? He had promised her that nothing would happen without her consent, but that did not take into account his desires. Was that fair to him? How long could he be kept waiting? Of course, Christine carried a sense of innocence around her, but she was not as ignorant as she seemed.

She had heard horror stories galore of dates gone wrong, of words exchanged and relationships lost due to unrequited desires. In fact, now that she was thinking of it, perhaps this is why she hadn't dated in the past. There were interested parties, boys who asked her out to school dances, but she never paid them any mind. Throughout her life, she was the girl afraid of getting hurt. She was terrified of giving mixed signals, of making promises she couldn't keep. But most of all, she was afraid of letting someone into her life, only to have them leave. That was precisely why she was so afraid of love: she would grow attached to someone, and they would walk from her life without a second glance. After all, it was what happened to her father.

After that heart-wrenching fact fluttered through her head, she fought to drive it from her head, as if it were too painful to bear. Erik isn't like that, she convinced herself, trying to calm the hammering that was now her own heart. He isn't going to die, and he isn't going to leave. Of course, there was no proof that these words were true, but she couldn't dwell on that now. If she allowed those thoughts to consume her, she would be up all night, and she had to sleep. After all, caffeine was now off-limits, so rest was essential in order to make it through her classes tomorrow. What use was she for him if she failed out of school?

By this time, she had changed into Erik's silk pajamas, which caressed her skin with a softness that she couldn't even describe. They had to be rolled at the waist several times with the drawstring tied tightly in order to fit, but they were magically comfortable nonetheless. They must have been stupidly expensive, but she mused that they were most definitely worth it. She turned off the lights, and to her surprise and delight, the bedsheets were silk as well, eliciting a soft sigh from her lips as she settled beneath the covers. She closed her eyes, fighting to banish all of her fears from her mind as she tried to sleep. Ultimately, she proved successful, her breathing settling into a smooth, natural rhythm as she surrendered to sleep.

 _The sun was beautifully bright in the afternoon sky, and wind gently whistled through the thickets of trees that sparsely covered a grassy lawn. Christine was sitting on that very grass, whose itchiness was prevented by a blanket underneath her as she gazed upon the scene of a park on a cloudless day. She could smell the just-evaporated morning dew, and coupled with the warmth of the sun, she was in bliss. As she took in more of her surroundings, she noticed that she was not alone. Who else could it be, other than her teacher-turned-lover? He was wearing clothing more casual than his normal attire, though not by much. Black slacks and a white button-down shirt, simple but definitely his style. He wore a woven boater hat, and while he was not wearing the mask, it only seemed to add to his charm. Of course, his face was nothing to smile at, but the fond expression in his eyes and the smile on his lips definitely was. Christine returned them, which only seemed to make him happier._

 _Christine then noticed that there was a picnic basket, whose contents Erik rummaged through until he found a bottle of wine and two glasses. He offered to pour hers, which she accepted with a little nod. It was only when she tried to thank him that she realized that she could not speak. While she found it wholly disconcerting, it did not ruin the idyllic nature of this scene, and she decided not to draw attention to it. Once their glasses were poured, Erik pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, bringing his glass to meet hers before taking a first sip._

 _Erik began to talk of everything and nothing. At first, Christine had tried to follow, but it made her head spin and all she could do was pick out odd phrases and gestures. In fact, she became aware that she could not understand him at all, which would be frightening enough if it were not for the fact that she also could not reply. She was forced to simply smile and nod, while placated him for a while, until it didn't._

 _"You're not being very interesting," he scolded her, taking another sip of his wine. He seemed to speak slower then, and at least she could understand him. But, his words made her wish that she couldn't. He said another few words that she could no longer make out, but his expression made it very clear: he was upset._

 _She visibly tried to speak then, to show him in some way that she was listening, but he did not seem to notice. He finished his wine, and with a narrowing of his eyes, he stood. He said something else, which for the life of her she could not understand, but his tone seemed final. He began to walk away. Christine was crying now, which she seemed to be able to do, but she couldn't make a sound. She tried with all her might, to the point where her stomach hurt with the effort, but to no avail. She tried to stand, to run after him and pull him back, but she was rooted to the spot. Trapped. And what was even worse, he did not care about her tears as he disappeared. Not only was he walking away, his back turned to her, but he was disintegrating before her very eyes. It was only when the last trace of him was lost to the wind, that Christine realized she was irreversibly and impossibly alone._

Christine's eyes snapped open to the dark expanse of Erik's guest bedroom, sighing as reality came back to her. It took a few cycles of breath just to calm enough to think, and for the life of her, she could not remember why she felt like she had cried for a thousand years. She was never able to recall her nightmares in full, only bits of feelings and sensation upon waking. This time, it was infinite, inexplicable sadness, combined with the profound feeling of being alone. While she was very comfortable in her personal shroud of silk, she became increasingly aware of the pounding in her head. Laying in the middle of the vast sheets only served to remind her of this fact, and she couldn't stay in this bed any longer. She was going to get a glass of water and stretch her legs, she decided, hoping it would be enough to get her back to sleep. Most of the time, it never was.


	25. Chapter 25

She made her way through the darkness to the door of her room, opening it quietly and padding down the hall and to the living area. The soft strains of piano music could be heard, and she realized that Erik was still awake. He was quite an idyllic sight, sitting at his piano, bathed in moonlight and surrounded by music. She took a moment to admire him, but made herself stop, knowing full well that he would not want to be disturbed. She traversed the living room to the kitchen, and she tried her best to be quiet, but he most definitely saw her. She crossed his range of view, and the music stopped, replaced instead by his soft footsteps following her into the kitchen.

"You should be asleep," he gently scolded, leaning in the doorway and watching her with concern.

"I was, and then…" she trailed off, her unspoken words replaced by a soft sigh. He didn't need to know that she was woken by a bad dream. After all, she wasn't five. "Anyway, I'm sorry I disturbed you. I just needed some water."

Obviously, he was not so easily fooled. Though he remained in the doorway, his voice softened, as if he instinctively knew that it would help. "Nightmares are nothing to be ashamed of, Christine."

"How did you-"

"You have angled yourself away from me, which indicates a level of embarrassment, which has no logical basis. You are nervous and apologetic, more than usual, which accounts for the softness of your voice. You are also light sensitive and tense, which means your head hurts," he rattled off simply, waiting until she turned around to continue. "Sit down, and let me make you a cup of tea. You'll feel better."

Christine tried to find the words to argue, but even after the guilt set in, tea seemed extremely welcome right then. She took a seat on a stool by the island, murmuring a few words of appreciation and another soft apology.

"There is nothing to be sorry for." His voice was as warm as he could make it, for he knew from personal experience how hard sleep was to come by. He filled the tea kettle and put it on the stove, opening one of his cabinets to reveal that it was filled with labeled jars of various sizes and contents. He thought for a moment before pulling a few out, during which he heard Christine's voice again. She had never seen inside that cabinet before.

"What are those?" She asked, watching him work with a curious and fond expression.

"During my younger years, I studied herbal medicine, and became very good at it." He explained coolly, pausing for a moment before continuing. "Was your nightmare about me?"

"No," she replied immediately, knowing innately that what he was suggesting was not the reason. "No, I think you were in it, but it wasn't about you."

He nodded, taking this as an acceptable answer. A comfortable silence descended upon the pair, during which Erik measured and prepared a tea of several different herbs. Christine continued to watch, thanking him once she was presented with a cup.

"That will help with the pain and the anxiety, and it will make you sleep," he explained in a calming tone. "I am going to return to my work, but you are welcome to sit and listen."

Christine nodded appreciatively, following him quietly into the living room and making herself comfortable on the sofa. She pulled the blanket that was there around herself, as she took a sip of her tea, which tasted strongly of honey and herbs in a delightfully therapeutic way. She angled herself towards Erik so that she could watch him, smiling to herself as the sounds of the piano echoed softly to her once more.

After a few minutes of Erik's music and the tea she was finishing, a wonderful sense of peace began to wash over her, one that made her eyes heavy with the beginnings of sleep. She did not know whether it was simply a result of the placebo effect, but the pain behind her eyes had all but vanished, leaving her feeling much better than before. Erik had stolen a few glances at her over the next several minutes, smiling a little as her breathing settled into a deep, natural rhythm. In fact, when the soft piano was replaced by his humming, she did not even seem to notice. He stood, approaching her with silent footsteps, watching her fuzzy eyes follow him as he neared. He sat next to her on the sofa, and after taking her cup from her, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him.

Erik was a little surprised at just how easily she accepted his touch, and his heart practically melted as her head settled into his chest. He was ready to let her be at the slightest protest to his actions, but it did not come. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying herself just as much as he was. Under the arm that was holding her waist, he could feel the slowing, gentle expansion of her breath, the same rhythm he had observed at the piano. His soft humming soon morphed into singing, which was what finally forced her eyes closed as his angelic melody wrapped around her. His insistent, hypnotic tone insisted that it be listened to, refusing to be ignored, working to numb her mind and sedate her senses. He took the liberty of tenderly running her fingers through her hair, perfectly aware that she was quickly losing the battle against sleep. Soon enough, his voice began to sound further and further away as she felt like she was falling, and then there was nothing.

He allowed himself to hold her for a few minutes, feeling rather spoiled by her warmth and her gentle weight upon him. Although he mused that she would not care either way, he knew that he could not continue to hold her all night. She did not deserve to act as an object for his own amusement, and she needed to rest, which would be much more optimal in bed. He carried her there, which was both a delight and a necessity, revelling at how her form nestled easily into his arms as he made his way to her room. He set her in the middle of the silk sheets, and she sighed softly as she relaxed into them. Covering her gently with the duvet, he left her to rest, knowing that if he did not find another way to occupy his time, he would continue to watch her for the remainder of the night. He continued his music until the morning light shone through the wall-to-ceiling windows, and once he finally checked the time, he knew that he had to wake her.

From the depths of a deep, dreamless sleep, Christine could hear a voice calling her name, so close, and yet so far away. She tried to ignore it at first, finding it only too easy to sink back into the comfort of her slumber, but the voice persisted until her breathing picked up, a sign that she was coming back to life. When she still refused to respond in any significant way, she felt something along the side of her face, applying gentle pressure in sweeping motions in order to coax her into waking. Once she was a little more conscious, she realized that it was Erik's hand stroking her cheek, continuing to pester her until she finally opened her eyes.

"Good morning," came the voice again, encouraging her the moment Erik was met with the sight of blue, hiding before beneath eyelids. "I would happily let you sleep all day, but you have class, and I have work to do."

Still half-asleep, Christine groaned at this, finding the energy to pull a hand over her head, taking the duvet with it. She mumbled something almost entirely incoherent, but Erik could make out the words _five more minutes_ , and chuckled.

"No, no, none of that," he chided, pulling the blankets back down to once again reveal her face. She was becoming more alert by the minute, which was a good sign, and he knew that he could not allow her to doze off again. "The bathroom to your right is stocked with towels and toiletries and the like, if you want to shower or bathe. You will find a bag on the counter, which has clothing for you."

As he spoke, he noticed that her eyes were drifting closed again, but he did nothing to further her ascent from the bed. If she insisted in the slightest bit, he would let her sleep there for the rest of the day, but he had a feeling she was going to get up eventually.

"Thank you," came a soft mumble from the pillow. "I'll be up in a few minutes, promise..."

He nodded, running his fingers through her curls once more before leaving her to herself. As she promised, after a few minutes she finally had the willpower to get out of bed. She headed to the bathroom, in which she found everything she needed to take a hot shower and prepare for the day. She reluctantly stripped herself of the luxurious silk pajamas, tying her hair up so it wouldn't get wet. Once she stepped into the steaming shower, she allowed herself to linger there for a few minutes more than she probably should have. Wrapped in a fluffy towel, she brushed her teeth and washed her face in the sink before peeking into the white bag perched beside her.

There were clothes folded neatly inside of it, all her size, and all brand new. There was a pair of black leggings, from a brand she didn't recognize, undergarments which, to her delight and mortification, were her size, as well as a pair of warm-looking knit socks. Though, the most shocking item was at the bottom, and as she looked at it she felt its impeccable softness under her fingertips. It was a thick, plush sweater in the lightest of pinks, and upon reading the tag, she realized it was pure cashmere. And wickedly expensive. Where had he gotten these things, and why for her? She never gave any sign of being dissatisfied with her own clothing, although it would be worn for two days in a row, and she knew she couldn't accept something so luxurious as a gift. Was he expecting her to repay him? Because if so, the cost of this outfit alone was most likely what she had in her checking account. With a bit of a guilty conscious, she pulled the clothing on with a contented sigh, for she did not want to invalidate his efforts. After she fixed her hair, she emerged from the bedroom, finding him fixing tea in his kitchen.

"You look lovely," he remarked happily once he laid eyes on her, pouring her a cup of tea and setting it at her normal place on the island. "I assume you found everything you needed?"

"And more, thank you," she replied softly, taking a seat and wrapping her hands around the steaming mug. "And though I appreciate it, I can't possibly accept this."

"Why not? Was there something that you didn't like?"

"No, of course not, the last thing I want is to seem ungrateful," Christine assured him, taking a sip of her tea. "Actually, I can't believe that you went through the trouble for me. You didn't need to-"

"I didn't do anything," Erik replied with a small chuckle, making himself a cup of coffee. "I sent a list to a boutique in the shopping district near here, and it was delivered shortly after."

"That must have been really expensive," she commented with guilt lining her tone, knowing how much the sweater alone cost him. Besides, it was still quite early in the morning, how much did it take to persuade someone to make deliveries this early?

"I didn't check, nor do I care. Don't concern yourself with it, just enjoy them."

Christine sighed and tried not to say anything else, because she really was grateful, but she had questions that seemed to spill from her mouth despite her attempts to quell them. "Can we talk about last night?"

These words seemed to immediately freeze Erik to his spot, and he looked to her with a mixture of confusion and anticipation. In fact, he wasn't confused at all, for he knew exactly what had happened last night. Singing her to sleep proved to be his favorite memory, he recalled. "Of course, Christine, and we should."

She took this definitive statement as her cue to begin, and the tone of his voice sunk her heart into an apologetic place. She had hoped that he might have enjoyed some of last night, but perhaps not. "I… I just wanted to say that I'm really sorry if I did anything that upset you. You looked like you were having a good time, but I realize that might have been you pretending on my behalf and-"

"Christine." He raised a hand to stop her once she began to ramble, his expression now morphing into one of concern. "Take a deep breath. I am not, in any way, angry with you."

She looked him in the eyes for a moment, taking a breath once she realized that he was telling the truth. This did nothing to stop the fluttering of her heart, but either way, she continued. "And I also want to say I'm sorry for falling asleep on you, which I presumed I did, and-"

" _Christine._ " His tone was more insistent this time, and she finally quieted and allowed him to speak. He took a sip of his coffee, allowing the first hints of caffeine to hit him before he replied. "Calm yourself, and then we will talk like rational adults."

He maintained his gaze on her until she reciprocated, and with a calm gaze, he watched her try to control her breathing. She really was very anxious, and he would be worried that it was him doing this to her, if this were not how she was no matter what. Although she had many flaws, this was the one that bothered Erik the most, considering how desperately he wanted to see her relax with him. She had done so last night, even after their kiss, and he wondered where that Christine went. Perhaps she was gone, replaced with a Christine that did not want to be with him anymore. Oh well, he thought. At least I got that one night.


	26. Chapter 26

**Author's Note: because I neglected to post a chapter on Friday, I grace you with a double-length one today! My apologies, midterms are the absolute worst.**

In reality, Christine wanted nothing more than what he did, but in the light of day, she was terrified. She had opened her heart to him, she had allowed herself to feel, something that she did for very, very few people. It was a defense mechanism, forged by some primitive, instinctual need to protect herself from the rejection and disappearance of those she let herself love most. He had seen the most attached, intimate version of her, but she was building her walls again, preparing for something that wasn't going to come.

"I never expected this to happen," Erik explained, taking another long drag of his coffee. The caffeine helped him keep his head on straight, and he knew that what she needed right now was the calm voice of reason. "But there is no denying it anymore, and I think you deserve to know that I care very, very deeply for you."

When it was clear that she was not going to interrupt him, he continued. "Last night was… probably the loveliest night of my life, and the time that we spent together will forever be cherished by me. But, of course, if I somehow misinterpreted your feelings, and you do not feel the same, nothing like that ever has to happen again."

"No!" Came her soft exclamation just after his statement, and a flash of desperation flashed across her eyes until she continued speaking. "No, I… I care for you too. More than you could know."

He was now astonished into silence, allowing her to continue. "I didn't want to admit it to myself, for a while… But I do. I really do. And as much as I wanted you to like me too, I was so scared that it was going to ruin everything."

"You were afraid that I was going to… reject you?" He asked softly, receiving a little nod in response. The very idea was comical to him. "Oh, Christine… How wrong you were."

"I just thought it was in my head," she explained. She took another breath, during which Erik watched her finally begin to relax.

"I can assure you that it is not. But I can also promise to you that this will never go further than you want. I do not want our... relationship, if you will, to interfere with your career or your music. Do you understand?"

She nodded, even chancing at a small smile before he continued. "Now, I have a few questions to ask you while you are still here. How did you sleep last night?"

"Like I was dead," she replied. "I don't think I've ever slept like that."

"Good, you needed some rest. Tell me about when I sang for you. How did it feel?"

She took a few moments to gather her thoughts, primarily because it took some effort to remember. "It was… I can't even describe it. How can you even do that?"

"I am not sure," he explained simply, taking her teacup once she was finished. "But it is a useful skill, especially with you being as anxious as you are. I worry for you, sometimes."

"I'm okay, really. It's just something I have to deal with," she assured him. "But, now I know who to go to when it happens," she added jokingly.

"And I will always be there," Erik promised, daring to take her chin in his fingers and press a kiss to her forehead. "Now, are you hungry for some breakfast?"

"One question. Why do you get caffeine and I don't?" She asked, feigning annoyance.

"Because my vocal chords are not in the middle of developing," he retorted, rummaging around in the fridge as he did so. "This is not up for discussion."

"Do you find amusement in telling me what to do?" The very essence of her smirk was etched into her tone, causing Erik to slowly turn around with a small smile of his own.

"I very much do, and I am even more amused when you do as I say. Though, I can see that you find amusement in defying me."

"Perhaps," she hinted, watching him take out the makings for eggs and toast. "Do you need help?"

"Despite what transpired during dinner last night, I assure you that I can cook."

She made a gesture that looked much like the equivalent of suit yourself, but she was genuinely impressed when she was soon served a plate of eggs and buttered toast. She thanked him and began to eat, having the sense to check the time as she did so. Her first lecture of the day started in under an hour, so she was making good time.

"What work do you have to do today?"

"I have a phone meeting with one of my colleagues in Brussels, budget reports, and I have to choose the spring opera for the senior company," he explained nonchalantly, since important business like this was routine for him. "What about you, my dear?"

"Between Advanced Music Theory and Opera Studies, I will be spending four hours in lecture," she replied with mock enthusiasm. "I don't know if I'm going to make it without caffeine."

"You can, and you will," Erik instructed firmly. "I have plans for you, Christine, and those plans depend on the lasting health of your vocal chords. Speaking of which, your first rehearsal with the Conservatory Chamber Choir is today."

Christine paled a little, pausing her progress on her toast once she processed the words. "Do you think I'm ready for that?"

"Most definitely." He was planning on keeping his reply short and simple, but the growing panic on her face showed that she was in need of much more. "Although it is far from finished, you have a beautiful voice. I would not be teaching you if I didn't think you had potential."

Despite feeling a little guilty from this padding of her ego, it did make her feel much better. Once she was done with her breakfast, he took her plate with a fond smile, taking it to the sink to clean.

"Let me help you with that," Christine offered, starting to get out of her seat.

"Absolutely not. I am perfectly capable of doing the dishes," he replied firmly, but she did not heed his warning. She was at his side in a few moments, rolling her sleeves up before she was stopped by his hand.

"So am I," she retorted. "And you cooked this time, so I clean."

"I cooked, and I will clean," he corrected with a small smile, though he was beginning to grow frustrated as she refused to do as she was told. He tried to remain lighthearted, but his hand was still preventing her from moving towards the dishes.

"But I want to help-"

She was cut off and silenced by a cool finger pressed against her lips, and while she was still in a state of surprise, the same finger migrated to her chin. Her eyes were pulled upwards so that they met his golden stare, and while she knew he was not upset, his look was intense. When he spoke then, it was of the velvetiest, smoothest quality, immediately drawing the air from her lungs as it pulled her into a state of compliance.

"Christine, go sit down."

Without question, she did exactly as she was asked with no further effort on his part. It was only once she was seated that he released his hold on her, which caused a very annoyed little voice to pipe at him from across the island.

"That so wasn't a fair fight!"

"Whatever do you mean, my dear?" He asked, his voice still maintaining that rich, alluring quality that made her head spin. She fought it off for now, just long enough to continue her banter.

"That!" She replied, feigning anger. "You know I can't argue when you-"

She was abruptly silenced by an unearthly melody echoing in her head, incredibly soft yet blissfully mind-numbing. She stopped talking, instantly releasing the breath she was holding in favor of closing her eyes. It was only a soft, tantalizing humming, but she had no choice but to surrender to the voice which held her captivated in a state of trance. To her dismay, she had no recollection of the next several minutes, and by the time consciousness returned to her, she was seated comfortably in Erik's car, on the way to campus.

"Unfair." She still feigned agitation, solely for the pure entertainment it gave her to watch Erik's lips turn up in a smirk as a response.

"I never claimed to fight fair, Miss Daae."

"But you should, Dr. Carriere," she replied, being devilishly cute with her playfully accusing tone.

"No, actually, I think I like it better this way," he replied, his voice slipping back into its unnaturally majestic quality. This seemed enough to quiet her, although after a few minutes it seemed that she remained silent by choice. He continued by humming again softly for the rest of the ride, allowing her to close her eyes and relax before she had to sit through hours of lecture. For Christine, this was welcome, and she allowed his voice to envelop her and guide her through the beginning of her long and stressful day.

When Christine opened her eyes again, the car had stopped in a parking lot on the edge of campus. The engine was running, hinting to the fact that Erik was simply dropping her off before moving closer to his office. It took a minute before her vision wanted to cooperate and focus, and another few moments until she remembered why she was here.

"You'll feel less fuzzy in a few minutes," he explained calmly, admiring the glassy sheen in her eyes with a fond smile. "Enjoy class."

"Enjoy work," she replied back with a little smile of her own, indicating that her remark was meant to be taken as sarcasm. She opened the door and got out of the car, giving him a little wave goodbye before she started heading in the direction of her dormitory.

She quickly grabbed her school bag from her room before walking to class, finding that Meg was out. As roommates, the two girls settled into a casual, but close friendship, often spending late nights talking about their days and learning more about each other. Christine found it easy to confide in Meg, and she knew that her friend will want to be clued in on all the goings-on of her weekend. She planned to keep the conversation towards her performance and the night as a whole instead of delving into the specifics of her revelations with the headmaster, both for her modesty's sake and for her privacy with Erik. Despite how delightfully nosy Meg was, there were some things she did not need to know, and that included the burning in her heart which was currently threatening to swallow her whole.

As she prepared herself for the day, she found the time to call her guardian, who must have been worried sick of her disappearance last night. Christine assured her that she was all right, that she stayed with Erik (that almost made the overexcited woman catatonic!), and that she was at school now. She had hoped that would be enough to sate her curious, nosy grandmother, but alas, it was not. Mamma asked questions until her inquisition yielded what she wanted, which was the events of last night. Christine had kissed him, and she admitted it with burning cheeks and flustered voice.

A morning full of classes ended up being a rather uninteresting affair. Christine forced herself to focus enough to take notes, but her head wasn't in it and she found herself both physically and emotionally exhausted. The closer her first rehearsal with the Chamber Choir got, the more it felt like she was heading towards her impending doom. With a lot of effort and energy that she didn't have, she was able to keep down the welling of her nerves enough to function throughout the day. Before she knew it, she was walking into the rehearsal hall, trying desperately to remain unnoticed. The last thing she wanted to be was the center of attention, but the circumstances that led her to be in this choir made her a point of interest no matter what she did. She was the youngest singer there, and she didn't even audition, surrounded by third and fourth years with budding careers and job offers from opera companies and choirs across the world.

Rehearsal had not started yet, which meant that the occupants of the room were currently mingling amongst themselves. They happily asked each other how their summers went, and Christine caught a few snippets of conversations regarding performances, opera companies, and traveling abroad. Most did not notice her as she entered the room, and for that, she was grateful. She was not ready for the questioning glances, the inquiries of her experience, or the judgement that she was sure to receive from her not-so-equal peers. Next to them, she felt terribly insecure, out of place, and insignificant.

"Christine Daae?" Her head turned to find the source of her name admission the cacophony of voices, finding it to be a short, stocky man with salt-and-pepper hair, revealing his age. Assuming that he was the choral director, she approached him, her expression much like a deer in the headlights. "I'm Dr. Robert Reyer, the choral director."

"It's a pleasure," Christine replied meekly, accepting Dr. Reyer's extended hand in a cordial shake.

"Now, I find that I need to introduce myself because I have never met you." His voice became a little lower then, a little warier of the other students in the room. "It is not every day that I receive a student with a recommendation from the headmaster..."

Christine did not know how to respond to this, and so she kept silent. She became vaguely aware that he continued to speak, saying something about how distant the headmaster was, but she was entirely lost in her thoughts for a moment. She did not think it wise for anyone, under any circumstances, to become aware of her… rather unusual relationship with Erik. After all, it was something that did not concern anyone else, and she intended to keep it that way. Despite their new familiarity, she had not forgotten that she was legally obligated to keep silent, probably for the sake of both their reputations, she now understood.

"How do you know the headmaster?" He finally asked, catching her attention and causing her to panic for a moment. How could she answer this?

"Oh, I met him at a conference," she lied gracefully, forced to think on-the-spot. "I was singing, and when he learned that I was going here, he offered me this position."

"You must be excellent then, for a first-year." Of course, Christine did not think so, but she was not about to deny this. "Well, I suppose I won't have to wait long to find out. Let's begin."

Dr. Reyer soon called everyone to attention, and as he did so they began to find their places on the riser steps near the middle of the room. Although she was quite unsure of where to go, Christine eventually found her place between two tenors.

"Alright everyone, welcome to a new year," Dr. Reyer greeted them jovially. "Now, I know you all know each other, but we have a new face. That's Christine, she's the soprano replacing Carlotta while she's abroad in Italy."

From his quick introduction, Christine got a good mix of friendly waves, wary glances, and one or two downright glares. She tried to focus on the fact that her reception was mostly positive, but she could not help when her nerves began to get the better of her. Despite the fact that she was quite the talented young woman, her own doubt followed her wherever she went, and she could not help the insecurity that was deep-rooted into her psyche. She held her anxiety in for now, promising herself that she could release once she got back to her room. More and more, it seemed like the solution to her very stressful day would be a good cry, even if nothing bad had happened to her. Though, she did not have time to think about that now. They were beginning to warm up.

Even during warm-up exercises, Christine's voice blended seamlessly with the rest of the choir. She had experience singing with a group, and she modified her tone in order to fit the overall sound of those around her. To Dr. Reyer's delight, there was not a stray voice to be found, even though Christine was completely new. Most all of the members were used to singing with one another, so their unity was expected, but this first-year had come out of nowhere and fit in perfectly. Despite being disgruntled over not having a choice in her position, he could not deny that she was a fantastic choice.

When they began to rehearse pieces, Christine was forced to sight-read, but she proved to fare very well despite her lack of experience. Almost as if on instinct, she knew when to stand out, when to back off, and when to share the sound of one collective voice. The choir was performing in the department recital in the winter with Ralph Vaughan Williams' Dona Nobis Pacem, which Christine found she thoroughly enjoyed singing. It was a powerful piece that required all of her energy and attention, and she felt increasingly less tense as time went on. In fact, she began to lose track of time, the minutes and eventually hours passing by in a haze of music, as they always seemed to. Before she knew it, it was over, and after rehearsal Dr. Reyer continued to talk at them, making announcements.

"The recital is December 13th, so clear your calendars!" He called over the hustle and bustle of students packing. "Next rehearsal, we will be beginning to polish the Messiah for the Christmas service at the Sainte-Chapelle. Make appointments with me to audition for solos! See you Wednesday!"

Christine took all of this in as she packed her bag, and because no one decided to engage her in conversation just yet, she left unceremoniously and stepped into the brisk Autumn air. Starting to walk proved to calm the rest of her nerves, and she no longer felt the irrational need to cry, which was a mercy. In fact, she now felt pleasantly content, which was furthered by the text she found from Erik when she checked her phone.

"When you are released from rehearsal, come see me. I want to hear all about it."

She did not hesitate to do so, for they had been separated all day and she found that she was beginning to miss him. The gravity-attracted planets metaphor was becoming more relevant by the hour, for the longer Christine went without seeing him, the more she felt pulled to him by a force stronger than herself, stronger than her own body. In fact, her feet seemed to take over muscle memory as she neared the administrative building in the middle of campus, and she only snapped out of her self-reflective daze when she was knocking on his door.

When Erik heard her signature knock, the one he had been anticipating for hours, he physically could not help the smile that pulled irresistibly at his lips. Where was Erik, and who was this man he was replaced with? This was all very strange business, especially for someone who was so invested in being the world's largest pessimist. Before he could forget himself too much, he called her inside, the foreign-feeling smile only growing once he caught sight of her. That blush pink sweater looked so wonderful on her, and he thanked himself for having the foresight to order it this morning.

Christine greeted him kindly, though she was initially perturbed when she did not receive a response. She was putting down her things before she had a mind to repeat herself, initially thinking that she wasn't heard. When she turned to face him, she was met with the sight of him gazing dreamily at her, a small smile plastered stupidly on his face.

"You are so beautiful, Christine," he said in his signature melodious tones. His endearment sent a pleasant shiver down her spine, and she couldn't help but return an abashed little smile.

"I'm glad one of us thinks so," she replied wittily, coming to the side of his desk in order to converse with less distance. She began to twirl a piece of her hair between her fingers, which Erik considered to be an adorable, yet nervous habit.

"Learn to take compliments, my dear," he purred, looking up to her with his usual intense expression. "It will become useful as your career progresses. Besides, you are absolutely stunning, and I will not have you denying that. I should draw you to prove it to you."

"You draw?" She asked curiously in response, choosing to steer the conversation away from her own insecurities. Of course, Erik noticed this, but he chose not to confront it for now.

"I am an artist in many forms, Christine. Now that I bring it up, I have been wanting to capture your image on canvas for a time now. I will begin so tonight, if you would do me the pleasure of modeling for me."

"At your apartment?" Was her second question in a row, feeling much like a parrot as he took control of their dialogue. If she admitted it, she quite liked it this way, as it made her overthink much less.

"If you are available and willing. I should not assume that you don't have anything else better to do."

"I don't, besides studying for my midterms," she reassured him, though the mere thought of her first exams scared the daylights out of her.

"I can help you with that. Once I finish this final piece of business, we'll go."

Christine nodded, and despite the realization that she would be spending two nights at Erik's apartment, she couldn't help but look forward to a quiet night in. Once she was settled in Erik's own armchair, she continued their conversation. "Did you decide on an opera?"

"Hmm?" Was his noncommittal response.

"The spring opera for the senior company, you were talking about it this morning. Did you decide?"

"Oh, yes, that. I chose Faust, we haven't done it in quite a few years."

At his announcement, Christine immediately beamed, because Faust was one of her most favorite operas. She told this to Erik excitedly, and her banter blended seamlessly into her beginning to ramble about her day. He was all too happy to listen as he completed the rest of his work, a contented smile remaining on his face throughout her retelling of the day's events. She rambled on like this for quite a few minutes before she suddenly quieted, realizing that she had been talking for quite a while and was probably beginning to annoy him. In contrast, Erik had been thoroughly enjoying listening to her speak.

"Why did you stop?" He asked softly, looking up from his computer screen to find that she was trying to busy herself in her phone.

"I realized I was probably starting to annoy you," she admitted, holding an apology back from her lips. She had always been told that being too clingy or enthusiastic was tiresome and unappealing, and in her own self-doubt, she struggled to bring herself in.

"I love hearing about your day," he reassured her, his normally intense gaze softening under the unsure glaces she gave him.

"I mean, you're busy," she assumed, setting down her phone now that they were conversing again. "And it's probably nothing you haven't done before. Sitting in classes, studying for midterms…"

"Actually, I haven't."

This definitely was not the answer she was expecting. "What do you mean?"

"I have never done those things before, Christine."

"Erik, you have 'doctor' before your name."

"I received an honorary PhD. I have never attended a class."

It was times like these that Christine began to realize how little she knew about Erik. Of course, he knew her like the back of his hand: her voice, her personality, her likes and dislikes, and all of her nervous tendencies. She thought she knew him very well on a personal level, such as his personality, but she was entirely ignorant on the affairs of his past. What was he like before he met her? Who had he known, where had he been, what was his life like? She wanted to know, desperately in fact, but she knew it could take quite a long time for someone like him to open up. She had barely gotten him to take the mask off last night, if only for a few minutes, and she did not think that he would appreciate her prying into the intimate details of his life. So, for now, she was determined to enjoy Erik as he was now, and he seemed entirely invested in giving her that pleasure.

"Are you ready to go?" He asked her after she had been thinking for a few moments. She realized that he was already packed to leave, his coat and his hat secured onto his person. Before she had time to think, she nodded and took up her bag, and together they left his office for the parking structure adjacent to the administrative building. Although it wasn't too late in the evening, it was late enough to where the receptionist at the front desk along with everyone else in the office had gone home. They were undisturbed as they climbed into the familiar Mercedes, leaving the school behind in favor for the city.


	27. Chapter 27

"How was the rehearsal, Christine?" He asked softly in an attempt to rekindle the conversation.

"Intimidating, but amazing," she admitted simply. "I heard we're rehearsing The Messiah for Christmas, which has always been one of my favorites. Most of the other singers were pretty nice, though I expect that they're wondering why I'm there."

"They'll know soon enough," Erik assured her. "This is a perfect opportunity for you to be seen and heard. You already know The Messiah well, so we will take the time to focus on the solos you'll be auditioning for."

Her face immediately paled at this, but because he was looking at the road, he didn't notice. The only thing he heard from her after that was a timid, "Do I have to?"

He slowed enough on the road to where he could look at her properly, and once he did he could see that she was returning the eye contact nervously. "Of course you do, Christine. What a silly question."

"Well, it's just that everyone else has been there for much longer than I have, and… I don't want them to think…"

"Think what? That you are talented and you deserve the opportunities that come your way?"

"I don't think that is necessarily true."

"How humble you are, my dear." Erik tried very hard to reign in his short temper, but she was beginning to wear on him. How could he possibly make her see how breathtakingly beautiful and special she was to him? "But you work very hard, and you have made astounding progress. Your voice is still growing, and if you continue to work, you will astonish the world."

Christine did not have any idea of how to reply to this, so instead she simply let the air between them fall into a comfortable, pleasant silence. It was much too easy to allow Erik to take control, especially when it came to matters of her voice. She had followed his guidance implicitly since this date, and because of it, she has grown more as a singer under his tutelage than in an entire lifetime.

Erik allowed her some time to silently contemplate whatever was in her head as he parked, leading her to the elevator and into his apartment. It was only when he invited her to sit in her usual place at the kitchen island that she finally emerged from her own thoughts, and with a small smile she watched him fill a kettle and put it on the stove.

"You need a lesson," he explained after a time, when he noticed she was paying attention. He continued to speak as he poured both Christine and himself a cup of tea, which he took with them to the piano. "Now that you are exhibiting proper vocal technique, we can begin to stretch your range. You are fortunate to have a naturally flexible voice, which I can turn into agility and a remarkable high pianissimo."

This evening's lesson turned out to be quite unlike anything that Christine had encountered before. In lessons previous, Erik mainly focused on breath control, inflection, emotional performance, and other such essentials that he found lacking in her foundation. Beautiful as her voice was, it needed to be built from the ground up, which is what he had accomplished. Now, he focused on her range and coloring, which proved to be an exhausting, tedious, and incredibly frustrating process. To her dismay, she found that they were not singing any actual music. Instead, it was countless exercises and scales, which he forced her to repeat again and again, his corrections to which were minute in detail and deviously hard to implement. For this, Erik exhibited all the patience in the world, teaching her with a strict and firm, but fair hand. In an interesting turn of events, it was Christine who was losing patience. It was one of the few times where Erik was able to witness her fiery side, which came out to play after the seemingly thousandth time she was made to repeat a particular exercise. She could never get it quite right, and while Erik knew exactly what she was doing wrong, she was unable to correct it. She let out a few choice curses in her native tongue, which she conveniently forgot that Erik was able to understand. He imagined her guardian washing her mouth out with soap after such language, and he fought the urge to burst out laughing, especially because he could see that she was seething.

"Calm yourself, Christine," he reminded her in smooth Swedish, reminding her that he was listening. Once she remembered herself, she stopped her pacing, taking an angry sip of her tea in an attempt to relax.

He instructed her firmly to start again, which she obeyed, but once again she produced a high scale with a shallow and unsatisfying sound. Erik could see that she was reaching her breaking point, and his verbal instruction was proving to be insufficient. Spurred into confidence by the events of last night and concerned about losing the focus of his pupil, he stood, reaching her in two strides and looming behind her confidently. A tiny gasp escaped her lips as she felt his hands wrap around her waist, cradling the back of her rib cage with his thumbs.

"Breathe into my hands, my dear." His voice was like a balm for her burning temper, instantly quelling her anger with its velvety, hypnotic quality. He could not help a small smirk as he felt her instantly relax underneath his fingertips, knowing full well that she could not see it. "Good girl. Again."

When she inhaled in preparation, she was able to feel the steely resistance of his hands, which she had to fight against to achieve a proper breath. It forced her to focus, and yet the silky texture of his voice was willing her to let go. The result was a relaxed, yet determined air around her body, which finally led to the precise technique needed to execute the exercise with full bodied pitch and satisfying tone. Erik reveled in finally getting through to her, knowing that she would be able to achieve his expectations once she got out of her own head. She was rewarded for her patience with a kiss applied to the crown of her head, her golden curls tickling his lips in the most delightful way.

"Well done," he commended her, his voice still remaining smooth and devilishly alluring. "That is quite enough for today. Some scales going down, and then you may rest."

Erik returned to the piano and she did as she was told, relaxing her voice with a series of descending scales which concluded their lesson. Despite her outburst and her temper, Erik was proud of the progress she achieved, which he planned to reward further as she took the time to wind down. He led her away from the piano and towards the plush sofa, where the fireplace was providing the air with a soothing warmth.

"Would you mind if I sketched you tonight, Christine?" He asked smoothly, watching her with affectionate delight as she settled onto the sofa. She seemed a little surprised by his request, but couldn't find any reason to object. Once she agreed, she watched him disappear down the hallway towards his bedroom and study.

He gathered his materials, which included a large sketchbook, a set of artist's pencils, and various tools essential to his style. He returned with his arms full, depositing his burden onto the coffee table before holding something out in front of Christine. She took it, immediately recognizing the smoothness of silk underneath her fingertips. It was a simple black kimono, obviously his by the way it smelled of worn leather and muted pine. The familiar scent made her melt before she collected herself, her cheeks red as he simply asked her to change. She nodded and disappeared into the spare bedroom before she could embarrass herself further, unable to think too deeply from the clouding of her head. She found the bedcovers still disturbed from her slumber this morning, and she made a note to return and fix them later before she left. For now, though, she focused on the task at hand.

At first, she tested the garment on top of her normal clothing, but she found that the structure and tie were sufficient enough that she could wear it without anything underneath. She admitted that she was particularly fond of the feeling of silk upon her skin, now that she had been spoiled with the luxury of it. As she once more slipped on the garment over her bra and underwear, she was surrounded by the pleasant scent of his cologne, which finally spurred her to return to the living room and take a seat on the sofa.

Erik could not remember when he had seen anything so beautiful. The sleek black kimono highlighted the lily-white of her skin, gleaming smooth and supple on her neck and face. Pops of color were provided by her eyes, which had always allured him so, and the gold of her hair as it laid in spirals down her back and chest. She sat sideways on the sofa, her legs laid out in front of her, two more expanses of ivory skin peeking through the sweeping folds of black silk. But even more glorious was the way she was looking at him. Her eyes, those torturous, breathtaking eyes, were gazing upon him with a fondness he didn't realize she was capable of. That glance threatened the regularity of his heart, made his hands tremble with the weight of it, and he finally decided that his choice of medium was insufficient for such a sacred image.

Without saying anything, he stood abruptly, disappearing into his bedroom once more. Christine herself thought of moving, but it was no use. He was back in no time, and now he carried a box of paint tubes, an easel, and a fresh canvas. Her eyes widened in surprise, but he was too determined with unfolding the stand of the easel to notice. She could hardly comprehend why he would waste a perfectly good canvas on her visage, but there was no point in arguing with him. If this was what he wanted, and it seemed it wanted nothing else, she was more than happy to model for him. After he was done preparing his workspace, he turned to her as she watched with noncommittal curiosity, and stood. Once he stood just to her side, he did not hesitate to comb his fingers through her lovely hair, parting it on one side and draping it over her chest and back. There was so much of it, and it seemed he enjoyed the feel of it more than expected, for he could hear the giggle escape from her lips.

"What would you do if I cut it off?" She asked curiously, glancing up at him momentarily.

"I would be a very, very sad man," he replied gravely, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. "Of course, I cannot force you to keep it, but I can beg."

"I have no intention of cutting it, I'm just curious," she assured him.

"Good girl," was all he said, just quiet enough that the whisper caught her ear.

He returned to his canvas, where he took up a palette and began to mix paint with an intense, critical eye. He found it devilishly difficult to mix colors that captured the essence of her features, but he enjoyed the struggle, and eventually he managed. He began to lay color on canvas, becoming quickly engrossed in his work as an image began to materialize before his eyes. He did not speak, abandoning conversation with Christine as he focused solely on what was in front of him. She did not mind much, simply becoming lost in her own thoughts as a means to entertain herself, but soon that was not needed. Erik began to hum as he worked, and considering that he was not paying attention to his tone, it naturally held that hypnotic quality which did not let Christine go. Her mind was already in a faraway place, so it was not hard for her to fall even deeper down the rabbit hole, losing herself and her sense of time under the influence of his melody.

By the time Erik looked away from his canvas again to look at his subject, her eyes had become glassy and distant, as if she had been staring at something that wasn't really there. He did not even realize that he had been singing, or how easily he was able to ensnare her with his voice, but it did not matter now. He liked these eyes, and he continued to sing in order to keep them faraway, so that he could capture them on canvas. She was so peculiar like this: he knew very well that her mind was blank, rendered empty by his entrancing melody, and yet she looked so deep in thought that even he was fooled. _Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing_ , he supposed.

 _Knock, knock, knock._

The jarring sound of a rapping at the door was enough to draw Erik from his silent reverie and set his blood on fire. Christine did not even seem to notice, too lost inside her head to even think of listening, but Erik was not as fortunate. He wondered furiously who it could be, before the knock sounded again, and he quickly realized whose signature knock that was.

"Christine… Christine." Erik stirred her gently from her trance with the gentle lilting of her name, as well as the feeling of his hand on her cheek. He felt guilty for touching her in such a way, but it seemed to be helping as she returned to the land of the living. "There's my angel. Go into the spare bedroom and change, we-" the knocking repeated itself, "-we have a guest."

Considering she was still half-conscious, she did as she was told, standing obediently and disappearing into the guest bedroom. As she changed and made herself decent, Erik answered the door, gazing disdainfully down at the guest he forgot to be expecting.

"And just what are you doing here?" He asked, his tone the very essence of a scowl.


	28. Chapter 28

**Author's Note: I am posting this one day early because I love you all, but also... I am so sorry. You'll understand once you read. Happy Valentines Day?**

"Erik, it's Tuesday." Nadir Khan looked up at him with an amusedly confused expression, walking past Erik and inviting himself in. "I already ordered pizza, it's gonna be here soon. Chess tonight, or cards?"

"About that-"

Erik was promptly cut off as Nadir entered the living room, finding the evidence of Erik's artistry strewn about the space. He found the painting particularly interesting, staring at the foundations of what looked to be a woman sitting on his sofa.

"And who is this?" He asked interestedly, a hint of humor in his tone. Though, before Erik could speak, his question was answered by the appearance of a very similar, very real woman from the spare bedroom. This, Nadir was not expecting.

"Erik, there's a girl in your apartment."

"I know that," Erik breathed in response, his eyes also becoming fixated on the angel in the hallway.

"A very pretty girl," Nadir added in confusion, causing Christine to blush and Erik to growl.

"I know that too, you dolt!" Erik's normally deep, melodious voice squeaked with mortification, pulling a little giggle from Christine. It then dawned on Erik that she was waiting to be introduced, and so he obliged, his voice still quaking. "Christine, uh… this is-"

"Dr. Nadir Khan," Nadir introduced himself jovially, approaching her and extending a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet another friend of Erik's. I thought I was the only one."

Christine took his hand with a small, shy smile, indicative of her temperament with people she did not know. She returned some words indicating how nice it was to meet him, and curiously asked what kind of doctor he was. He replied medical doctor, clarifying that he was a surgeon, more specifically. Once they had been properly acquainted, Erik found it necessary to speak up again.

"Christine," he addressed her tenderly, throwing Nadir entirely off guard. "Know that you are more than welcome to stay, but if you would like to go home, now if your chance."

"I think that's a good idea," she agreed. "I have a midterm in the morning, and I should study. Besides, Meg will be wondering where I am."

Erik could not help but chuckle at this, imagining Christine indulging in late-night gossip with her flitty roommate, who he admitted has been rather good for her. Meg had been teaching Christine to let go - to live a little, as she put it - and it has been paying off as the normally timid blonde came out of her skin, inch by inch. Erik offered to take her, which she reluctantly, but gratefully agreed to. She was soon gathering her things and heading out the door with him, who told Nadir to make himself comfortable and pour himself a drink while he waited.

It was not long until Christine was dropped back at the Institute, wishing Erik a good night with a sweet smile and an adorable little wave, both of which made his heart flutter. He watched her until she was safely inside the dormitory before reversing and returning to his apartment, where he found his friend setting up a chessboard, still irritatingly sober.

"I'm on call tonight, which means no alcohol for me, as much as I would like a drink right now," Nadir explained warily. As much as Erik would like to drink as well, he detested drinking alone, and so he refrained. "So, she's your student?"

"That's none of your business," Erik replied hotly, though his tone gave away the affirmative answer. Erik should have expected these questions to come, but he never imagined how unprepared he would be for them. Despite trying desperately to retain his composure, it was unraveling under Nadir's knowing gaze, turning him instantly into an idiot. It was a rare occasion that Nadir witnessed him flustered, and it amused him as much as it concerned him. He had never expected Erik to take on a lover, and he did not expect it to be soon. And while he did have questions, he needed to be careful.

"Well, she's very pretty, and young," Nadir recounted his observations with a smirk, watching Erik's hands begin to tremble. "Wait, she's an adult, right?"

"Yes!" Erik shouted instantly, offended and appalled by the question. "Of course she's an adult, you ass!"

"Okay, that's all I needed to know!" Nadir raised his hands in mock surrender, wishing silently that he could be drunk right now. "If you don't want to talk about her yet, that's fine!"

"Oh, but you big idiot, that's exactly the point!" Nadir let Erik's constant insults slide for now, knowing that he was on the brink of getting him to open up, which was a very rare occasion indeed. Erik continued his rant, which was half angry yelling, and half despondent whining. "All I want to do is talk about her!"

"I can see that," replied Nadir with a small, but kind laugh. "I was there for all of five minutes, and I saw how she turned you into a great big softie."

As a reply, Erik sunk into his usual armchair with a melancholy sigh, never in his life feeling so helpless. Normally after Christine's visits, he was allowed time to himself in order to reclaim his authoritative, confident (to the point of arrogant) persona. But now, in the wake of his observant and persistent friend, there was nowhere to hide.

"She is the epitome of beauty, with an angel's voice to match, Nadir."

"And she seems to like you."

"She does, and it scares me half to death."

Nadir decided then to change the topic of conversation, for the health of both men. He could see how anxious Erik was becoming at being questioned, and while that was not his intention, he found that talking about it was doing more harm than good. Whoever this girl was, Erik had it bad for her, and that was enough to set Nadir's teeth on edge. As the two men settled down to pizza and chess, their reliable weekly plan, conversation turned to work life, new compositions, travel plans, and rehashing of old memories (the funny ones, that is). It was the same as every Tuesday before, and like some Tuesdays, the night ended with the ringing of Nadir's pager.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath, checking the message before standing. "I almost had you, too. MVC, ten minutes out."

"Bye, Nadir." Erik nonchalantly watched him leave in a hurry, knowing in his heart that Nadir definitely did not have him. He was only a few moves from checkmate, but the great booby did not need to know that.

Now blissfully alone, Erik decided to return to his piano, for a lovely melody had been streaming in his mind for hours just itching to be written down. Now that Nadir had gone, he was finally able to relax, the solitude a welcome reprieve from a productive, yet busy day. Still plagued with thoughts of his departed angel, he imagined a companion piece for the painting of Christine that was yet to be finished, and thoughts of her provoked bursts of creative energy to assault his mind with the possibilities for his genius. In fact, it was with great irritation that he noticed the interruption of his ringing phone, which he would have ignored if it were not for the ringtone. He had set Christine's ringtone to a unique one a few days ago, for she was really the only one he would bother picking up the phone for. He quickly stopped his playing and went to answer, thinking sweetly that perhaps she couldn't sleep, and she wanted to hear his voice.

"Christine?" He answered the phone curiously, tucking it under his chin as he went to pour himself a glass of wine.

"Uh, no-" Erik furrowed his brow immediately, for the voice on the phone was definitely not his Christine's. "Uh, it's Meg, Christine's roommate… I think you already know that, fuck…"

For a moment, Erik found himself profoundly irritated, thinking that this was some prank or party game to see if he actually existed. Yes, he knew those rumors, and he specifically did not address them, for they gave him a unique advantage when it came to the discipline of his students. He was about to hang up the phone… Until he heard crying in the background. He recognized that voice, and it made his blood run cold.

"What the fuck happened?" He growled, dismissing all professionalism as he scared the girl on the phone half to death.

"I don't know!" Meg squeaked, now thoroughly freaked out. "I just got back like two minutes ago… I can't get her to stop crying, she can't even breathe-"

"Where are you?" He asked, cutting her off. He was already out the door, barely having the mind to grab his jacket before launching himself at the elevator.

"Our dorm!" She replied quickly, knowing that the last place she wanted was to be was on the headmaster's bad side. "I asked her if she wanted me to call anyone, and you were the first person she asked for-"

"Put me on speaker." His voice like a low growl then anything else. He moved with a speed he didn't know he still possessed, already to his car once his instructions were met.

"Christine," he called, and though he knew she could hear him, there was no break in the shuddering sobs and gasps for air that dominated the receiver. He called her name again, but he found that his hypnotic tones didn't have any effect over the phone. He was screwed until he got there. "Fuck. I'm coming, I'll be there in ten minutes. Meg, do not leave."

"I'm not going to! Christine, it's going to be okay, try and breathe…"

Erik then hung up the phone, knowing he could not focus on barreling down the roadway and talking on the phone at the same time. He turned the fifteen minute drive into eight, and the lateness of the hour saved him from the inquisitive stares of students as he stalked with lightning speed down an empty dormitory hallway. He did not waste precious seconds with knocking, simply bursting into the room and closing the door swiftly behind him as he was met with a truly frightening sight.

Meg had her arms wrapped around the trembling, sobbing mess that was Christine, whispering calming words that were obviously having no effect. She was close to crying herself, but to Erik, she didn't even exist. All he could think of was Christine, who had her knees pressed into her chest, struggling to breathe through the uncontrollable tears that just wouldn't stop. He crossed the room in two strides, firmly taking Christine's forearms in his hands and making it very obvious that he wished for Meg to move. She didn't have to be told twice, and soon Christine was brought to lay down. She struggled in her blind panic, but she was kept still by the iron grip on her arms.

"Christine." At the sheer force of this firmly-spoken word, Christine's eyes snapped open, recognition flashing across those lovely, teary blue irises despite her panic. Erik continued, his hypnotic, melodious voice beckoning her into a sense of calm. "You are having a panic attack. It's going to stop. I am going to count back from five, and once I reach one, you are going to breathe."

Five. Erik forced her to retain eye contact, his golden eyes entreating her to relax with their mesmerizing stare. Four. Christine felt her limbs release their tension, sinking deeper into the mattress beneath her. Three. She leaned her head back against the pillow, closing her eyes against the stare that was making her vision swim. Two. It felt as if a weight was lifted from her chest, her airway opening as the panic released its iron grip. One. Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes, but she was able to take a deep, shuddering breath.

"Good girl," he commended her, loosening his grip on her forearms. "Tell me what happened."

At the mention of what caused her hysteria in the first place, fresh tears marred the porcelain of her skin, her lips trembling as she muttered the words she wanted nothing more than to forget. Her speech was not very clear, nor was it very loud, but Erik was able to understand the message.

Car accident… hospital… Mamma.


	29. Chapter 29

When realization finally dawned on him, Erik gently pulled Christine into his chest, allowing her to muffle her cries in his jacket. The tears seemed to have no end, and he couldn't imagine the agony that was currently tearing through her chest like a hot knife. Despite being such a critical moment, he knew that they couldn't stay like this for long. He had to get her to the hospital.

"Can you stand?" He asked tenderly, receiving the smallest of nods in response. She clutched to the lapels of his jacket, holding so tightly because it was the only thing that felt real. When she stood, she could barely feel the floor, blind and deaf to the surroundings which seemed so insignificant now. It took her a few moments just to remember where she was, and by the time she did, she was already being lead somewhere else.

Upon their exit, Erik was able to catch a small glimpse at Meg, who was currently seated on her bed. She did not follow them, and he realized that in his attempt to calm Christine, Meg was also severely affected by the power of his voice. In retrospect, this made everything easier, for he knew she was going to sleep soon. He closed the door behind him on the way out, holding a trembling Christine to his side as he lead her to the car. It took some convincing to get her into the passenger's seat, and even more consoling to get her to let go of him. In an attempt to comfort her, he draped his jacket over her, which finally coaxed her to release her death's grip on his shirt. As he got into the driver's seat, he watched her pull the material closer to herself, his familiar scent coaxing her to breathe as he pulled onto the roadway.

Without the panic to distract her from her pain, Christine was able to recount every detail of the last half hour, which she conveyed tearily to Erik during their drive. She had returned to her dorm to study and sleep before her midterm that next morning, like she told Erik before leaving. She sat at her desk and opened her laptop, browsing absentmindedly for a few minutes in order to procrastinate studying, and that was when she received the call. It was her grandmother's phone, but not her voice. It was a man, a nurse, if she remembered, calling her to tell her to come as soon as she could. She only remembered a few snippets of words: car crash, serious, critical condition. She was still in a state of shock, but she couldn't stop talking. Erik had to know, he had to know everything, panic mounting in her heart once more. She realized fully now that they were driving, and her eyes widened as she became convinced of her own imminent demise. Erik offered her a hand, which she kept a white knuckle grip on the entire journey, despite his calming words and hushed tones. When they arrived at the hospital, it was him who had to ask a nurse for information. Christine was unable to speak.

"Before you ask, the mask is a medical prosthetic," he recited in steely tones, setting his jaw underneath the facade of white porcelain. "We are looking for information on Marie Valerius."

She nurse dutifully pulled up the file on the computer, trying her best not to linger on the blank, masked face before him. "She was admitted about half an hour ago, and she is in surgery. She is in critical condition, and that's all I have for now."

"Who is her surgeon?" Erik pushed, tightening his grip on Christine as she began to tremble anew.

"Dr. Nadir Khan," the nurse read from the file. Erik's heart dropped, but for the sake of Christine, he retained his composure. "Waiting room B is unoccupied, if you would like to wait undisturbed."

Erik replied with a curt thank-you before leading Christine to a chair in an empty waiting room, pulling her into his arms once he had a chance to sit. For a time, she just cried, renewing her hold on his shirt, which was by now wrinkled and stained with her tears previous. She couldn't seem to catch her breath, which Erik took as his cue to begin speaking, once again gentle words and calming rhythm. But, when it came down to it, there was nothing to do but let her weep, and after a while, she calmed.

By the time a surgical assistant stepped into the waiting room, Christine had gone numb to it all. Numb to the arms holding her close, numb to her tears, numb to the bright fluorescent lights and the hard plastic of waiting room chairs. Inside the safety of her own head, where she so often became lost, she was able to forget what was happening to her, able to push out the bad… push out everything. But, that scared resident's face was what brought her back to her cruel reality, sitting up in Erik's arms in order to hear something, anything.

"It's touch and go," the assistant explained slowly, obviously trying to keep the trembling from her own voice. "Her injuries are severe, and we can't keep the bleeding under control… I wish I had something better to tell you, but you should prepare yourself."

She offered a gentle, reassuring touch to Christine's shoulder before making a retreat back to the operating room. She left Erik to console Christine as she fell apart anew, but it seemed that she had no tears left to cry. She felt sick, and she couldn't hold herself up anymore, relying on Erik entirely to hold her and keep her conscious. Her world was reduced to his arms, to his voice, and to her own suffering, and yet she couldn't help but hold on to the slightest bit of hope that maybe, maybe this wasn't the end. She cried and cried, and she prayed, begging someone, anyone to listen. Erik listened, and he held, and he consoled, but it was barely half an hour more before he looked up to the face he wanted least to see.

They had been there barely an hour, and Nadir Khan stepped into the vacant waiting room, scrub cap in his hand. When he looked upon two painfully familiar faces, it made the news all the more agonizing to bear.

"Christine, I am so sorry."

I am so sorry… We did everything that we can… I can't begin to understand…

The words echoed a million times over, ceased to become words, stopped being real. Nothing felt real, nothing could end the pain, and nothing could quiet the screaming in her own head. Through a tunnel, she heard her own voice, but she couldn't understand the words, couldn't comprehend why she couldn't breathe.

"No… no, please… please…" At the cracking of her own speech, she felt something wrap tighter around her, but for the life of her she couldn't remember what. She was falling, unable to claw at the reality that was falling away from her, unable to stop the betrayal of her own body as she sobbed with a voice she couldn't recognize. Her ears felt stuffed with cotton, her vision went black at the edges, and she wanted nothing more than to fall away. She was going to let herself, allow herself that escape, but a pull combined with voices was enough to keep one foot in the world she wished so desperately to leave. She felt something cold, something hard. It was the floor, where they had laid her in order to get more access.

"Erik, I have to sedate her, she's in shock." Nadir's voice was firm, but Erik did the logical thing and ignored him. He kept a tight hold on her arms, refusing to allow Nadir near her just long enough to finally get through to her.

"Christine." Her name, spoken in such a gentle, yet powerful way, always proved enough to focus her. Despite the tragedy that surrounded them, this was no exception. "Christine, look at me, right now."

Nadir stared at her as she opened her eyes, and he continued to watch with numb shock as his friend pulled her from the brink with confident grace. She struggled to focus her vision, but she was compelled to by the two rings of gold directly above her. They refused to let her go, rooted her to the earth as his voice wove a tight hold on her senses. It remained elegant and strong, despite the pounding of grief in his own heart.

"Stay with me, Christine. I know it hurts, it hurts more than anything you have ever felt, but I need you to breathe. Breathe," he entreated her, heaving a sigh of relief once she took in a tense, shuddering breath. He was right, it hurt more than anything she had ever felt. Her chest was being ripped to shreds by the pain, but she couldn't deny her fervent need for air, and each breath she forced became easier and easier. And with her breath, came the strength to cry.

Erik sat on the floor beside her, pulling her into his arms as the sound of her sobs threatened to tear him apart. It was the worst sound he had ever heard, and as he felt her tiny frame tremor with sobs, he was convinced that he was in his own personal hell. As much as he wanted to take her pain for his own, to make it stop, he knew that the only thing he could do was hold her and bear it. One of his hands began to stroke her hair, another holding her with tight, constant pressure against his chest. It was like this that he coaxed her through the agony, until mercifully she fell silent.

Normally, this would be the time where Nadir would leave, giving the family some space, but because this was such a personal case, he was compelled to stay. He kept his distance, but in the privacy of the empty waiting room, he permitted himself to sit on the floor across from the pair. It was only when the sounds of her sobs were replaced with the labored sighing of her breath that he dared to speak, for there were some questions that needed to be asked. Painful, awful questions, but questions.

"Christine…" Nadir's voice was nowhere near as beautiful as Erik's, but it spoke to her with the same calmed sorrow, and that was enough. "I know this is the last thing you want to think about… But I have to ask. I couldn't forgive myself if I didn't. Was she an organ donor?"

The glare that Erik gave Nadir in that moment burned with the heat of a thousand suns, but there was nothing to be done to take those words back. Despite the feeling of guilt Nadir faced in that moment, he did not regret asking, for he knew patients in this very hospital that desperately needed to be made whole again. Just when he was about to abandon the prospect, leave her alone to her grief, she spoke with incredible softness, her voice tender and weak with grief.

"She told me about it… once… she told me she was."

Just the effort it took to get the words out was enough to send new tears from her eyes, but she was rewarded by Erik's soft cooing as she fought through her shock. The words went as quickly as they had come, and she returned to silence with the crushing weight of her grief.

"Someone is going to come in and have you sign some forms," Nadir explained mechanically, as he had several times before. Death was common in his line of work, but the heartbreaking pain he saw burn through her beautiful, innocent eyes made him more sensitive than he normally was. "After you are done, you can go home."

He slowly stood then, offering one more consoling glance to the pair on the floor before respectfully taking his leave. Despite a small piece of personal attachment to this case, he had other patients to attend to now that he was at the hospital, even though all he wanted to do was go home. Before he returned to his routine, he took a moment to himself in the attendant's lounge, where he found it safe to let out his frustrated tears and curses. He couldn't save them all, but he had hoped that he could save this one. In the end, there was nothing he could do.

True to Nadir's word, a nurse entered the waiting room some time later with a stack of clipboards and a pen. Christine was still on the floor, wrapped in Erik's arms, and whether it was because she couldn't move or refused to, no one knew. She had stopped speaking, and she didn't even have any more tears to cry. She was exhausted and numb, so much so that she didn't even acknowledge the nurse that softly called her name, not until Erik gently nudged her enough to break through her shock. In the end, it was he that took the forms from the nurse, respectfully telling her to come back in a few minutes once they had been signed. They were once again left alone, Erik now tasked with convincing her to function.

"Christine," he called her name for the thousandth time that night, as it seemed to be the only thing that worked. He stroked her cheek in an attempt to get her attention, but it was difficult. "I need you to sign these forms."

She barely had the strength and the capacity of mind to shake her head. She could barely breathe, she couldn't think of moving. Her head felt like lead, her eyes burned, and she didn't want to remember her name or why she was there. She didn't want to be herself anymore. She wanted to forget. Maybe if she ignored him, she would be allowed to, to drift away into the nothingness that beckoned her so tantalizingly. He refused to give her grief that satisfaction, and he continued, knowing that she needed a firm hand. She needed someone to tell her what to do.

"This is not up for discussion." His voice was stern, almost a little harsh, and with anyone else his behavior would be considered insensitive and cruel. But he knew his pupil, knew that this was when she needed strict guidance the most. "You are going to take this pen, sign what I give you, and then we are going to go home. Now, Christine."

After a few moments with no response from the girl in his lap, he was about to repeat his instructions, but it proved to be unneeded. It took a monumental amount of effort, but she took a deep breath, coming out of her daze just enough to reach for the pen in his hand. She could barely make out the statements on the page, but she scribbled her signature where Erik pointed, praying that soon she would be able to get out of this room with the bright lights and the white walls. Once she was done, the nurse returned and took all the forms, offering a few more words of condolence before letting her know she was free to go. Erik stood, taking Christine with him in his arms, barely registering her voice as it struggled to form quiet words.

"I… I can walk. I can walk," she whispered, keeping a tight hold on his shirt as he set her down. She was still wearing his jacket, which kept her warm and comforted her enough to complete the most basic of tasks. Erik lead her to the car, where he helped her get in, and soon the hospital disappeared around a corner.

Through eyes filled with tears, she recognized the route to Erik's apartment. In the back of her mind, she felt awful for putting herself upon him like this, but she realized that without him, she would be alone. Despite her guilt, she was grateful that she wouldn't be by herself, and she decided not to argue against his kindness. She needed someone, desperately, and he was the only person she wanted.

The house was still warm, the lights dimmed and a chess game still laid out on the coffee table. She was seated firmly on the sofa, and as she stared at the flames of the electric fireplace across from her, she felt something soft and warm being wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She was trembling, though obviously not from cold, but it became substantially better as she felt herself being pulled close to a comforting presence. She would have cried more if she wasn't so exhausted, but she didn't have the energy to break through the numbness.

"What am I going to do now?" She whispered, excess tears slipping down her cheeks. Now that she was recovering from her shock, she was forced to remember her situation. She was an orphan, and Mamma was the only family she had left. She was eighteen, no longer a child, and now expected in every capacity to take care of herself.

"In a few minutes, I am going to make you something hot to drink, to help you relax," he explained plainly, keeping his words clear and his tone comforting. "Then you're going to sleep. You are going to wake up in the morning, and you will feel better, and then we will go from there."

"I… I can't…" She tried to force more words out, but they seemed to evade her, no matter how hard she tried. She couldn't breathe, and she couldn't possibly think about tomorrow. Going to sleep seemed nice, but she didn't want to wake up.

"I know," he cooed, beginning to run his fingers through her hair. He could feel her trembling like a leaf, and he wondered with dread if she was going to cry again. It was very normal, he realized, but he still wished that he could take away the pain. Once he trusted her to not fall apart in his absence, he left her for a few minutes to put the tea kettle on. When he returned, he pushed a mug into her trembling hands, once again resuming his place at her side. It took some convincing and consoling, but the tea disappeared little by little, and with it her body finally stilled its tremors. She was past exhaustion now: she felt like her body was made of lead, and she couldn't even keep her head up. It rested heavily on Erik's chest, and her eyes were coaxed closed by the rhythmic beating of his heart.


	30. Chapter 30

It was a beautiful service. The sunlight of a clear morning painted a rainbow of light through the stained glass windows of the cathedral, casting everything in a glow unfit for such a tragic day. The entire congregation had attended, for most of them knew the woman in the coffin personally. They had been to her home for tea, talked of sending their children to college, and heard her excitement of her granddaughter's acceptance to a conservatory. That same girl was now clad in modest black, her golden hair was confiscated to a bun on the back of her head, her tragically beautiful eyes stained with tears she couldn't fight against. She was so utterly broken that no one questioned the man sitting beside her, whose dark attire was offset by the presence of a sleek white mask.

Erik hadn't wanted to go to the funeral. Cathedrals, while beautiful, held nothing but awful memories of a childhood he wanted to forget. He wasn't going to go, if it weren't for the fact that Christine was not getting any better. He had hoped that she would compose herself enough to be alone for a few hours, but it was only a few days after Maria had died, and she was in no condition to face the condolences of a congregation alone. And so, he swallowed his pride, doing what he could to comfort his fallen angel through the death of the only mother she had ever known.

There was no shortage of people willing to share their memories of such a loved woman, so much so that no one pressured Christine to stand and say her piece. In fact, Christine had not spoken a word through the entire service. The only sound from the girl in the front pew was the soft sighs of her tears, which was why it was so surprising when, just as the last few fond memories of Maria were shared, she stood to say goodbye to her grandmother in the only way she knew how. She sang her requiem.

 _Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine:_

 _et lux perpetua luceat eis._

 _Te decet hymnus, Deus, in Sion,_

 _et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem:_

 _exaudi orationem meam,_

 _ad te omnis caro veniet._

 _Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine:_

 _et lux perpetua luceat eis._

 _Kyrie, eleison._

 _Christe, eleison._

 _Kyrie, eleison._

Despite the weakness her speaking voice had suffered in the days after her grandmother's death, Christine sang with a quiet strength even she did not know she possessed. Every ounce of emotion in her body flooded into the strains of that requiem mass, the tempest of pain forcing even the most straight-faced in the pews to weep. That voice, echoing through the cavernous expanse of the stone cathedral, was hauntingly, torturously beautiful, and those that were there to witness it could have sworn they heard the angels themselves. And yet, there was just Christine, ending her farewell with a plea, those notes begging as much as they were entreating.

That was the last time Erik heard Christine sing for a while afterwards. In fact, he had not heard her speak at all since the funeral, and he was nearing his breaking point. She remained at his apartment, since he frankly did not trust her by herself, and he had taken a few days off to ensure that she would remain safe and cared for while she tried to make sense of her freshly shattered reality. And while he had expected some level of decline, he didn't anticipate anything like this. While he sat at his desk, staring at his computer screen with a blank expression, he remembered how agonizing it was to convince her to drink a glass of water.

"Christine, please." He was nearly begging then, unable to get through to her any other way. She had been lying in the guest bedroom for nearly twenty-four hours at that point, not having moved since the funeral, literally willing herself to crumble to dust. "Please drink something, and eat, and then you can sleep."

He didn't know if he was hoping for words from the girl, who was so broken, but he did not receive anything at all. Her stare, directed towards the ceiling, was terrifyingly blank, and he mused miserably that anything was preferable to this. He could handle crying, screaming, even… anything but this. Her silence was pure hell.

He came to sit on the edge of the bed, physically turning her head to force her to look at him. This seemed to help, for he noticed a flutter of recognition register in that pained gaze, followed by a shuddering intake of breath. It took minutes upon minutes of coaxing to return clarity to those eyes, and even more convincing before he was allowed to sit beside her and sit her up, leaning her against his side. Getting a glass of water down her took nearly an hour, and by the end, he was exhausted with the effort. Though, as much as she wanted to give up on herself, he was determined not to abandon her. Not when she held the key to his heart so torturously in those once-bright eyes.

He spent the rest of that week at home, his work interrupted almost every hour by the need to check on her, though she was always in the same place. While he was becoming more discouraged by the day, he was noticing that she was eating and drinking more easily as the hours passed, and he did not lose hope for her yet. By the weekend, he had convinced her to sit in a bath, which he had prepared with steaming water and soothing oils. It seemed to help, at least by the fact that she was now clean. He allowed himself to regain some semblance of hope after this mild improvement, even if it was marred by the fact that she still wasn't speaking.

But, even though Erik hated to admit it, his patience was coming to an end. Of course he would allow her to stay for as long as she needed, and he even enjoyed having her in his home, but her silence was deafening. It was torturing him, and he couldn't understand why it was happening. Of course, he was a man of science, and he could deduce easily that she was suffering from an acute case of shock, but this fact wasn't enough to quell the anger rising inside of him like an inferno. He needed an escape, he needed to get out before he imploded like a faulty pressure valve, taking everything he loved in its wake. Thank God for him, the weekend was coming to an end, and with it he announced that he was going to work.

"I cannot stay away from the office for very long, Christine," he explained plainly while leaning in the doorway of the guest bedroom. "Can I trust you to be here, by yourself, for the day?"

He had gotten her nodding and shaking her head over the past day or two, and he became inexplicably proud when he received a little nod in response to his question. It was a very small bit of progress, but it was something to convince him that this situation wasn't as hopeless as he thought upon waking this morning. Maybe, just maybe, she would get through this, and she would come back to him. He could hope, because now he was beginning to remember what his life was like without her. Before he left for his office on campus, an ironic reprieve from his normally-comfortable home, he let her know that there was food in the fridge, despite knowing that she would most likely not eat it. Feeling the pull of guilt in his heart, he left for the day with the promise that he would be back in the evening.

What he thought would be a reprieve for both of them turned into the longest, most tortuous day of his entire career. He couldn't focus on even the most rudimentary of tasks, he cancelled all of his meetings, pushed his deadlines back to next week, and spent most of the day fuming at a blank computer screen. He only hoped that Christine was faring better than he was, for she was dominating his every thought, awful scenarios of her by herself causing his blood to run cold. It was strange how much he had grown to rely on her quiet presence in the house, even if her painstakingly slow recovery was driving him out of his skin. He needed her as much as she needed him, and it was apparent by the way he counted the minutes before he could go home and care for her.

When he had returned home that night and found that she had not hurt herself or set the apartment on fire, he knew that he would be forced to return to his office and resume his normal working hours, despite how much he now wished he had taken another few days off. After all, he was in his every right to: he had not taken so much as a sick day in years. Though, he noticed that the time alone might have done some good, if not for him. Christine had moved from the bed to the sofa in the living room, and she had turned on the fireplace for herself. She found the library, a leather-bound copy of French stories in her lap as she struggled to focus on the words. _It was a start,_ Erik assured his nervous conscious. She looked up to him as he entered her field of vision, and though she didn't speak, the recognition in her eyes was progress from the blank stare of days previous.

A comfortable routine surfaced during the next few days. Erik would enter her room in the morning, ask if she was all right to be alone that day, to which she would always nod her head yes. Even in her fragile state of mind, she knew she could not keep him from his work, and she would feel badly if she tried. He would leave early to mid-morning, going to his office despite the fact that he couldn't get any work done. He kept in regular correspondence with Nadir during this time: he was very concerned with how Christine was doing, and he too became increasingly worried when Erik reported that she still wasn't speaking, nearly two weeks after Maria's death. Both he and Erik decided that if her silence persisted past three weeks, then more serious intervention would have to be done. Neither of them could watch her waste away.


	31. Chapter 31

Friday came sooner than Erik had expected, and with it came the prospect of spending the weekend at his apartment, watching the girl he loved struggle with impossible grief. Despite his uncharacteristic instinct to care for her and protect her, he found he was beginning to dread those forty-eight hours with the resignation of a man on death row. Of course, she was never a bother, and her presence in the house was not one of burden or annoyance to him. Simply put, she was scaring the life out of him, and he was growing to fear that the funeral was the last time he would ever hear her voice. He purposely took the long route home, watching the minutes slip by like molasses as he attempted to gather his thoughts and strengthen his composure for the battle to come. Getting his Christine back from death's grip of grief was going to be a war, fought one battle at a time, and he needed to be ready for it.

Turning the doorknob was in of itself a battle, one that he won with sheer determination of will. His Christine needed him, and there was only so long he could stand to keep her by herself, with no one to care for her during her silent suffering. The very thought made his blood boil with self-loathing, even though he knew that the separation was good for the both of them. With this thought in mind, his shock was itself deafening when he wasn't met with silence after stepping through the door. The echoing of a profoundly heartbreaking, yet supremely beautiful voice through the high ceilings of the house transformed his journey through the front walkway into a homecoming, and never in his life did he feel the same bursting happiness as in that moment. She was singing.

 _Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi,_

 _dona nobis pacem._

He recognized that melody, taken from the first few measures of the Ralph Vaughan Williams cantata she had been rehearsing with the Chamber Choir in the weeks previous. In his mixture of surprise and pure delight, he kept perfectly still in the doorway, as if any sudden movement would quiet the heavenly sound he had been starved of for so long. His eyes searched for the source of the sound, resting on the golden-haired figure standing in the space where his piano was kept.

As if lost in her own reverie, Christine did not notice his arrival until she had quieted naturally after the end of the verse, her eyes naturally attracted towards the figure standing in the entrance hall. Her eyes widened the slightest bit at being discovered, but allowed him to approach her with the greatest tenderness in his step that he could muster. She could clearly see the bridled joy bursting from his eyes, and it was soon coupled with the sound of his voice. That voice, that had comforted her for countless days, was the reason she hadn't yet entirely abandoned this life.

"You're singing." It was merely a breath, every ounce of relief and joy spilling from those quiet words.

Despite the fact that she had been singing only moments before, she found that she still couldn't speak. There was a block in her conscious that kept her from doing so, something that kept the words imprisoned inside the solitude of her own mind. It scared her as much as it scared him, but he wouldn't dwell on it now. He couldn't, or it would destroy him bit by bit. _One battle at a time_ , he thought to himself, quick to reassure her as well.

"It's all right." His voice was equally as tender then, but he could not contain his excitement as he dropped his bag and approached the piano bench. "Just sing."

Christine was compelled by some unseen force to take her usual place beside the piano, where her music stand was already holding the music he wanted her to sing. She scanned the first few measures of the piece, finding that she was surprisingly lucid for the first time in days, before looking up and catching his glance. His gaze was studying her, looking for signs of distress, but he found a beautiful clarity in her eyes that he had not seen in quite a while. His own eyes took on a soft, encouraging quality to them before beginning to play the introduction of the piece. He played, and listened, and she sang, and together they both began to find healing in the music running through their veins.

She found it surprisingly easy to follow the music and sing, despite being in such a state of shock for so long. Singing was more natural to her than speaking, and it only made sense that she would feel the need to recover the former first. As the music fed her lucidity, she was forced to recount her limited memories of the last few weeks. _The call, the hospital, the forms… the car, the apartment… the funeral. Then nothing_. She remembered almost nothing from after the funeral to now, which was terrifying in its own right. How long had she been here? Why couldn't she remember anything? Had she been sleeping, had she eaten, and how? As she struggled to remember even small snippets of what had happened to her, she felt the familiar sense panic pulling on her senses, gripping her throat and making it difficult for her to breathe. As soon as it started, she felt two familiar hands grasp her forearms, rooting her to reality.

"Christine, listen to me." It was Erik, of course, his deep, melodious voice cutting through the tidal wave of terror that threatened to drown her. "It's all right. I'm going to count back from five."

 _Five._ She felt herself being pushed gently towards something that collided with the back of her knees, making her sit on something plush and warm. _Four_. Something - someone, rather - sat beside her, pulling her gently against them in a welcome embrace. _Three._ She closed her eyes, the voice willing her to relax as it began to win the battle against her panic. _Two_. Her heart settled into a natural rhythm, echoing the hand that was running itself through her hair. _One._ She took a deep, shuddering breath, lucidity returning to her once her mind stilled.

"Good girl, that's better," the voice commended, which she now recognized once again as Erik. It felt good to recognize him, and it made her feel safe. "Was it the singing?"

She shook her head immediately, knowing innately that wasn't it. She wished with frustration that she could force the words out and make him understand, and even she didn't understand why she couldn't. Even without her explanation, he was soon able to guess correctly, especially having seen that glimmer of clarity in her eyes.

"You started to remember." A nod of her head confirmed his suspicion, and with a deep sigh, he resumed running his fingers through her hair. "The memories are going to hurt, more than anything. But the pain will stop, and the words will come back. It will take time, Christine."

They sat like that for a few minutes, Erik resigning himself to being a comforting presence to her as she calmed down fully. Even if she wasn't speaking, it was nice to have her lucid, and he could tell that this weekend was not going to be as awful as he originally anticipated. Perhaps now she was beginning to heal, and he was determined to guide her through it as a teacher and friend. As with anything, he demanded perfection, and her recovery was no exception.

"Could I convince you to eat something? Are you hungry?" After a moment of consideration, she shook her head in resignation. Unfortunately for her, he would not take this as an acceptable answer. "You need to eat. Once you are ready, we are going to go to the kitchen and see what you want."

She didn't have the strength to argue with him, and she admitted to herself that the more time she spent in lucidity, the hungrier she became. She wondered how long it had been since she last ate, and once again the question raised in her head of how long she had been here. Though, she didn't have time to dwell on it for long, for after a few minutes, Erik was gently coaxing her towards the kitchen.

He allowed her to poke her head into the fridge, seeing if anything caught her eye, but there wasn't much to work with. Admittedly, he had neglected buying groceries, but there was sufficient pantry items to make a decent dinner for the two of them. He decided that if she was eating, he could lead by example and eat as well. He had her sit at the island, and while she felt bad that he was cooking for her, she couldn't say she wasn't grateful.

She watched him pull out ingredients for pasta, following him around the kitchen absentmindedly for a few moments before her gaze settled on the handbag hanging on the chair to her left. It was most definitely hers, and after a moment of contemplation, she reached inside and pulled out her phone. She ignored the missed messages and calls, instead looking at the date displayed at the top of the screen. It was November ninth, and the last date she remembered was late October. She had been there, no doubt, for two weeks.

"Two weeks." The words slipped from her mouth with the pure shock of the realization, so much so that she didn't recognize at first what she had just done. She had spoken. As soon as Erik heard her behind him, he whipped around, his eyes wide beneath the mask. Did he just hear what he thought he heard? Instead of being overjoyed, like she was sure Erik was, all she could feel was guilt. "Erik, I'm so sorry."

This was definitely not the words Erik had wanted to hear, and immediately his eyebrow furrowed in confusion. He didn't want to push his luck, but the sound of her speaking was like a balm to his burning heart, and he wanted to hear it again. "Would you care to elaborate, my dear?"

"I…" The word became more difficult then, but she persevered, knowing now that she could if she tried and focused. "I've been here… for two weeks. Haven't I?"

"You have," he replied back nonchalantly, keeping his voice level in order to indicate that he was in no way upset. Still, he looked back to her to see if she was okay, sighing deeply when he saw the intense, apologetic expression on her features. "There is no reason to apologize. In fact, you are going to stay here until you have completely recovered, and that is not up for discussion."

"Recovered?" She questioned, her voice becoming nervous as she struggled to remember anything from her time there. It was as if there was a complete block of her memory missing, resuming only when she began to sing tonight.

"You had, and are still in the process of having, a nervous breakdown. And until I am confident that you are completely healed from that experience, you will be staying here."

"But I-"

"Do not argue with me, Christine." His voice became firm now, every bit the strict teacher she remembered him to be. "Perhaps, if I can trust you to do as I say, we can continue our lessons tonight. I have missed your voice."

Christine sighed and resigned herself to a little nod, for the effort of speaking was exhausting her. As time went on, she was realizing how tired she was, the aching in her core evidence that she clearly hadn't been getting enough sleep. She found this strange, assuming previously that she had been constantly sleeping during her memory lapse, but apparently not. Her thoughts were interrupted when Erik set a plate of pasta in front of her, and she picked up her fork before a new wave of pain collided with her chest.

"She's really gone, isn't she?"

Erik stood across from her at the island, also in the process of picking up his fork when she spoke. He sighed, for he should have been expecting this, but he wasn't prepared for the pain in that voice. It bit at him like a knife, and all he wanted to do was hold her and comfort her until it was all right again. _Oh, what she did to him_.

"Yes, she is," he found himself saying, unable to lie to her. "I am so sorry, Christine."

If the pure sadness in her voice wasn't enough to destroy him, then the glint of tears in her eyes and the quivering of her lip was. He was at her side in an instant, pulling her into his embrace with strong arms and soothing words as she fell apart anew. She felt incredibly stupid, yet so broken, and there was nothing else to do but sit embarrassingly in his embrace and cry the tears she had been holding back for weeks. Her Mamma, the only parent she had left, was gone forever. The last time she had spoken to her was over the phone, remembering the words _I love you, Christine_ sending a fresh torrent of tears down her face. She remembered that voice, remembered those hugs and the chats they shared over morning tea. She remembered the Sunday morning church services, the pancakes, the relationship advice that she had oh-so-willingly dished out despite Christine's embarrassment. The day they opened her acceptance letter, the pint of ice cream they shared in celebration afterwards. She remembered everything, and the pain of those memories was impossible to bear. She was drowning, drowning in the tears that wouldn't stop, even as Erik carried her to a more comfortable place to cry.

It was then that Erik realized that Christine was not a natural survivor. Despite the loss she experienced early on in her life, she had never truly been alone, and as such she was entirely unable to care for herself during times of distress. When her mother passed as a result of giving birth to her, her father had been the sole surviving parent, filling her childhood with the wonder of fairy tales and music. Her father was then, too, claimed by death, and as a result her care was passed to her own Mamma Valerius, who raised her to be a beautiful, but terribly naive young woman. Now, with her final guardian lost to death and no obligatory relative to take her place, Christine was now, for all intents and purposes, alone in the world. In fact, she would now be left to her own devices if it were not for the volunteer who walked into her life by accident, taking in his stride the music that flowed in her blood like oxygen. He realized that it was him who would take up the torch, guiding Christine through her life with the determination and fierce guardianship which she so desperately needed. In fact, as much as she needed someone to care for her, he found that he equally needed someone to care for. Just like her voice lessons, his involvement in her life was now another project to give him the sense of purpose he needed more than anything, and in the process, he was determined to make Christine need him too.


	32. Chapter 32

After several minutes of holding her gently on the sofa, Christine finally was able to calm herself, wiping her eyes with a resignation to her tears that nearly snapped Erik's heart in two. He hated to see her like this, despised watching powerlessly as she wept like a lost, abandoned child. Despite her innate, fervent need to be guarded from the world, Erik saw in her a strong-willed, stubborn young woman, yearning to break free from the chains of her weakness and naivety. She just needed to be shown how, but unfortunately, now was not the time. For now, he could see that she was hopelessly exhausted, both emotionally and physically, and would benefit greatly from a deep, dreamless sleep.

Feeling her warmth against his chest gave him the courage to begin softly singing, using the most calming, hypnotic tone he could in order to coax her to sleep. The initial melody convinced her to relax, her head resting heavily on his chest, but she fought to keep her eyes open. She didn't want to sleep yet, she felt like she had been asleep for so long, trapped in the torturous torrent what was her own head. But the voice would not listen to her silent protest, instead beckoning her gently towards inevitable surrender. Erik felt her resistance to the pull of his voice, his brow furrowing gently in surprise as he continued unrelentingly, confident that he knew what was best for her. And, like he predicted, it wasn't long before she closed her eyes, succumbing to the pleasant, overwhelming power that wordlessly promised to render her blank, guiding her towards true rest. She would be better in the morning, he was convinced, feeling her soft form beside him gently give in to the emptiness of sleep.

It seemed that Erik was always right, which was a frustrating, but entirely comforting fact. Christine did feel infinitely better in the morning. Yes, despite the deep sadness that was gnawing a hole in her heart, the full night of rest had renewed her energy and restored what was left of her shattered conscious. For the first time in weeks, she felt somewhat like herself again, and she knew that she had him to thank for that. As evidence to his attentive care of her for so many days, she did not have to wait long after waking to hear the door softly open, admitting a set of golden eyes to see into the room.

"Good morning, my dear." The velvety baritone of his voice was a pleasant sound to wake up to, and a small smile from her gave him the confidence to step into the room. "I take it you slept well?"

"I always do, when you sing to me," she replied sleepily, still in the process of waking up. "I still don't know how you do that."

His only response was a knowing smile as he approached the side of her bed, sitting down on the edge and gazing at her fondly. He was immensely pleased with her progress through the night, noticing that she was now very relaxed and calm. Of course, there was still much healing to do, but he was sure that she was now starting on the right path. He would continue to guide her, and that started with breakfast.

"It has been too long since you last ate," he chided gently, running a hand through her curls before standing to his full height. "You have begun to lose weight."

It was then that Christine was able to notice the changes in her own body, which she had neglected to keep track of through the weeks of impossible mourning. She could feel that her face was a little thinner, and her ribs were beginning to show through the pale skin of her chest. She was already quite thin, and though she enjoyed being small, she knew this was weight she couldn't afford to lose. And so, she allowed him to lead her to his spacious kitchen, where a kettle was already starting to sing on the stove.

Christine thanked him as he set a steaming cup of tea before her, and she watched fondly as he started to root about his pantry for breakfast ingredients. He decided on pancakes, knowing how much she loved them, and it seemed that she too was catching onto his plan as he pulled out ingredients.

"Let me help," she offered, appearing at his side instead of sitting at her place on the island. When he politely refused her offer, she only became more insistent. "You've been taking care of me for weeks, and I feel awful. Let me make breakfast."

"What you have yet to realize is that I enjoy taking care of you," he countered, letting her see a small glimpse into his inner thoughts. "I'm just overjoyed you have an appetite. Go sit down."

"No." That word was uttered with equal parts stubbornness and humor, but it was enough to still Erik with surprise. This was the first time she had ever directly refused him, and he was quite at a loss of what to do. When she reappeared at his side with a bag of chocolate chips, he decided to humor her, since pancakes were definitely not something worth arguing about. Despite his expectation of obedience, he knew he had to choose his battles.

They silently agreed that Christine would be the one to mix the batter, while Erik would take care of the cooking. The former began to hum softly as she mixed, though it was impeded by small mouthfuls of chocolate chips that she ate straight from the bag. Upon the third time she did this, Erik looked to her with an amused expression, catching her just as she was about to pop the offending chip into her mouth. "Christine, if you keep that up, we won't have any chocolate for the pancakes."

Instead of heeding his warning, she simply dropped the chocolate chips into her mouth with a mischievous expression, though her eyes were the tiniest bit teary as she did so. "That's what Mamma always told me," she explained, though the tears did not progress to anything but a glimmer. Her guardian's death still seemed like a freakish nightmare, but it was becoming easier to talk about her. The memories were painful, but she was able to see the joy in them, and it was just enough to keep the sadness from overwhelming her again. Little by little, one pancake at a time, she was healing.

Despite Erik's arguments that he was not hungry, Christine insisted that he made a plate for himself too, stubbornly proclaiming that she would not eat until he did. He grumbled and desisted, but eventually he gave in, which was a rare occurrence for someone as domineering as himself. Together, they ate at the island, Christine in her usual place and Erik standing across from her, a cup of coffee accompanying his plate of pancakes.

"Don't think I've gotten over my coffee ban," Christine grumbled stubbornly, staring down Erik's mug with the intensity of a lion surveying its prey.

With a little chuckle, Erik moved his mug out of her reach, taking a mockingly long sip while retaining eye contact. "It is for your own good, my dear," he explained sweetly after he finished.

"If I have to suffer, you should suffer with me," she retaliated humorously.

"Now where's the fun in that?" He mocked, taking her plate once she was finished. "We have been over this, but for now, I don't want to argue. I want to hear you sing."

Christine was a little taken aback at the forwardness of his request, but it forced her to think of the two weeks she spent in silence. In reality, she longed to sing again, frustrating but beautiful memories of their last lesson reminding her of why she wanted to do so. She was making progress, astounding progress under his strict guidance, and she wouldn't throw that away for the world. Mamma wouldn't have wanted her to abandon her music. And so, she agreed to his request, taking a sip from her glass of water before following him to the piano.

Though two weeks without lessons left her a little out of practice, Christine was happy to find that muscle memory soon took over most of the basic technical aspects of her singing. Within the first few minutes of warmups, her voice was restored to the level it was before, and Erik soon began stretching her range and working her technique as he did in their previous lesson. Despite the tediousness of the task and her occasional groans of frustration, he found that he entirely enjoyed this lesson. He could see her progress with his own eyes, hear the improvement of her range and her technique, and after almost an hour of scales, she was rewarded with actual music. It was then that Christine looked upon the sheet music she was given with confusion, taking in the sight of it for a few moments before she realized what was different. It was handwritten.

"You wrote this." It was a rather obvious fact, but she felt the need to voice it anyway.

"Yes, I did," he confirmed her suspicions, his eyes sweeping over her with the admiration of a proud teacher. "You are ready to begin singing some of my work."

Offering nothing more as an explanation, Erik suddenly stood from his place at the piano, approaching the wall opposite him to retrieve his violin from the mount. It was then that Christine remembered that she had never heard him play, and bridled excitement and anticipation fluttered in her chest at the thought.

He did not give her much time to dwell on the meaning of this choice, but soon she found that she ceased caring. Christine knew that Erik had mastery over the piano, but it was nothing in comparison to his performance as a violinist. It was as if he wasn't playing at all, simply coaxing ethereal sound from the strings with all the tenderness of a lover. Wrapped in the sweet, sweeping tide of the introductory line, she wished simply that she could sit and listen to him play forever. She didn't want it to end, and she certainly didn't want to ruin this moment with her own voice. But alas, she came in anyway. It was like nothing she had ever sung before, and not because it was difficult. It sounded, quite literally, as if the piece were made for her voice, and she hardly recognized herself underneath the strains of such a breathtaking melody. And yet, something about it was vaguely familiar, stirring up memories in her mind of a simpler time… of her childhood. When she realized the words she was singing, it nearly made her weep.

 _Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing…_

Erik had rewritten her favorite childhood lullaby. He had spent hours on it, creating the most beautiful harmonies between the voice and the violin, paying homage to the fairytale that had comforted his pupil through so much. In fact, he was equal parts infinitely excited and terrified at the thought of presenting this piece to her, wondering how she would react, what she might think. He had kept the memory alive, but the melody was different, and he hoped that she would not be offended at the thought of him tarnishing her father's memory. That was the last thing he ever wanted to do.

More quickly than either of them wanted, the piece ended, and Erik was pulled out of his reverie and forced to focus on what he wanted to avoid the most: her reaction. He hoped beyond all hope that she would like it, that she could find some comfort in his efforts, if that was even possible. Initially, all that hope was dashed as he watched her eyes become glossy with tears.

"Oh, Christine…" His voice was as tender and small as a child then, thinking he had just made everything worse. _He could never do anything right, could he?_ "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to… I've upset you."

He was too distracted by his own self-loathing to notice how she shook her head in dissent, and so he was entirely unprepared when he felt the sudden assault of her warm body against his. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, burying her face in his chest so that it was very difficult to tell if she was weeping. Even in the depths of his shock, he could tell innately that she was not.

" _Thank you_ ," she murmured against him, "for everything."

It was then that a shaky sigh escaped his lips, and naturally his hands reached around her to return her embrace. Truth be told, he had held her several times over the past few weeks, but there was something entirely different about the embrace they shared now. She had initiated it, and she did not necessarily need to be comforted. She had sought out his touch because he had done something kind for her… because she wanted to. She wanted to be held. And, although Erik hated himself endlessly for it, he wanted nothing more than to hold her without shame.

Neither Erik nor Christine remembered how they had made it to the sofa, but they found themselves there anyway. It felt like forever since they had found themselves like this, Christine laid comfortably across Erik's chest as he reclined on the sofa, though it was quickly becoming one of her favorite places to be. Especially when he ran his fingers through her hair, which he was doing right now. Despite everything that has happened, despite all of the pain, this made her feel like everything was okay.

"You wrote that for me," she murmured once more, unable to count how many minutes they had been silent.

"I did," he once again proved her correct, though he did not offer any more elaboration to his simplistic statement.

"But why?" The words seemed to spill from her mouth in a nervous frenzy, and while she was afraid of ruining the peace of the moment, there was much to be said about the growing fluttering in her stomach. She often considered herself unworthy of the effort and the time he devoted to her. "It must have taken you a long time…"

"No time spent on you is wasted," he breathed quickly, his hand pausing on the crown of her head for a moment before his fingers continued to comb through her golden hair. He thought fleetingly that he should be careful with his words, but there was something about his protege that disarmed him entirely. "You inspire me like nothing has before, Christine. You are music itself."

She did not reply immediately, for truthfully she didn't have much to say. It was beginning to dawn on her just how much she meant to Erik, and while she didn't exactly understand why, it was still a comforting and heartwarming fact. The last person to care for her so deeply was her Mamma, and now she was only there in memory. Just like her father, too.


	33. Chapter 33

"I will probably have to start working out the details of her will," Christine commented absentmindedly, correctly assuming that Erik knew who she was speaking of. "All the legal stuff… and I have to go back to the house…"

"All in due time," he reminded her gently, not wanting her to become too upset. "Once you are ready, I have assigned my lawyer the task of taking you through all the legalities of her estate."

"Oh, you didn't have to…" Christine sat up now so that she could properly look Erik eye to eye, feeling both surprised and guilty by his thoughtfulness. "I don't want you to think that this is your problem…"

"You shouldn't have to do this alone," he reassured her, and before she could protest, he pulled her once again against his chest. "It is all right to rely on people, Christine."

"I should be able to take care of myself," she admitted, embarrassed by the fact that she definitely could not. She was immensely grateful for the help, but she assumed that accepting it made her weak, and she didn't want that. She was pitiful, in her opinion. "And I promise that I'll leave you alone soon, you're probably getting sick of me by now."

"Why? Have I done something to make you believe so?" He was genuinely concerned now, momentarily recounting every action of his during the last few weeks. What had he done to make her want to leave? Oh, he really was awful…

"No, not at all!" She quickly dispelled his doubts, for the last thing she wanted to do was to appear ungrateful. "I've just been loafing around your apartment for the past two weeks, taking up space and making you take care of me… I'm an awful guest, and you're too kind to ask me to leave."

"I would never tell you to leave," he countered, now becoming quite nervous. He wasn't ready to let her go just yet, and though her time with him was spent mostly in silent grief, he had become used to having her in his home. He had come to enjoy it, in fact, and now he was desperate for her to stay. "And you have been no such thing. In fact, I would like you to stay the rest of the weekend… just until I know you're alright."

"Are you sure? Erik, I don't want to become a burden…"

"I insist. Besides, we can use this time to rehearse your solo auditions, and further develop your technique. It… it has been nice having you so close by."

Christine couldn't deny that she was flattered at that, and it did make her feel a little better that he was not suffering in her company. "Then let me at least do something for you in return… I would say I could clean, but your home is immaculate…"

"Christine, you are not cleaning my apartment." If he was not so horrified by the idea, he would have given a little chuckle at the humor of her offer. "I hire someone for that, and you are my guest."

"Then, I don't know… I could do some shopping for you, if you'd like. I want to be useful, I have already made you do so much for me."

Erik would have also denied this offer, if it were not for the fact that he was rapidly running out of groceries. He had meant to go shopping, but the situation was now becoming urgent. "I… I suppose this is agreeable. Would you like me to accompany you?"

"If you'd like, and if you're not busy," she replied happily. Now that she dwelled on the idea, she couldn't wait to go out, most likely because she couldn't remember the last time she had. It was a miracle she felt well enough now to do so.

After several more minutes of peaceful relaxation, Christine stood and went to the guest room to change, leaving Erik to do the same. Once she was behind the closed door of her bedroom, she rummaged around for something to wear, but to her surprise she didn't have to look far. A drawer was stocked with clothing, and upon further inspection, she found that all of it was hers. She recognized her favorite sweatshirt, her cream sweater, and a couple pairs of leggings, along with her undergarments (to her mortification) and her pajamas. She realized that Erik must have gone back to her dorm to retrieve her clothing, because she didn't remember doing so herself. It was a small gesture, but one she was immensely grateful for as she pulled on her familiar hoodie.

Erik made himself presentable in his room, pulling on his usual ensemble of black slacks and white button-up shirt. In fact, it was pretty much all he owned, besides from his couple formal tuxedos and silk pajamas. He was, in most respects, a creature of habit, and the last thing on his mind was what he should wear for the day.

When the pair met each other in the living room, Christine was surprised to find that his choice of mask had changed. She had seen his skin-colored mask before, but a few improvements were made to the design from the last time he had worn it. The edges were better-tapered, blending into his hairline and his lawline like they were his own skin. The material of the mask itself was now slightly textured, emulating the appearance of pores and slight imperfections that any normal face would have. Of course, she knew exactly what lay underneath that mask, but if she were a passers-by on the street, she should not give him a second glance.

"Wow," she breathed, unable to keep herself from looking. "It looks…"

"Real?" He suggested, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yes, I do not wear this one often, but it does its job well. Come, there is a market down the street that we can walk to."

It was cold for a Paris November, but not too unbearable that they could not make the short walk to Erik's preferred grocer down the street. Erik was located in the heart of the city, which meant that shopping and other such necessities were never too far away. More than anything, though, Christine was enjoying the feeling of fresh air. It made her feel alive again, like returning to the world after a long slumber. Her innate need to bask in the crisp air was precisely what made her gasp in excitement at a sign for the farmer's market.

"We should go!" She looked up to Erik hopefully before remembering that he might be busy. He might have been expecting a quick run to the grocery store, not an adventure at the market. Though, seeing how excited she was made him graciously agree.

Now, Erik realized that going to the farmer's market would force him to be around other members of the human race, but he reassured himself that no one would give him a second glance. He had been making small adjustments to this mask for months, the first test being coffee with Christine all those weeks ago, but now he knew it was ready for something greater. If this outing was successful, then he might finally have the opportunity to live like a normal man.

Even on such a chilly day, the farmers market was beautiful. Paris was the host of many of these a week, and while Erik had never gone to one, it was clear that Christine was a loyal fan. Lines of tents and stands indicated clear walkways where shoppers could buy from sellers, who were offering an infinite number of vegetables, fruit, meat, and other foodstuffs. At the other end, Erik even saw a tent which was selling fabric and yarn. He stayed dutifully by Christine's side as she decided where she wanted to go, and eventually she decided on looking for vegetables.

Despite the fact that Erik was never any good at holding a conversation, it seemed that this is what Christine did best. It was the most wonderful thing to watch, in his opinion, how she conversed happily with farmers and other shoppers. The mid-day sun made her golden hair glow with the radiance of an angel, her bright eyes glinting with the happiest expression he had seen on her in weeks. Her voice was clear as a bell, even with simple expressions such as good afternoon and hello, and her laugh echoed in his mind with the beauty of a siren's song. It was only when she took out her wallet that Erik snapped out of his fond daze, approaching where she stood with the speed of a predatory lion.

"Put that away," he chided gently while pulling out his own wallet, but he realized that she was refusing to listen.

"Absolutely not," she countered stubbornly, batting his hand away before he could offer to pay. While Erik was frozen in surprise, the grocer took her money before handing her the bag of her selections. It was only when Christine was leading Erik away that his shock subsided, allowing him to speak.

"Why won't you let me pay?" He questioned irritatedly.

"Because I would like to buy you groceries," she explained patiently, an edge of stubbornness still remaining in her tone. "It's the least I can do."

"You don't owe me anything," Erik reminded her softly, following her further into the market. "And I like to buy you things."

Christine did not reply with anything but an eye-roll and a little shake of her head, instead choosing to spend her time more wisely visiting with another seller. This time, it was a heavy-set blonde woman with kind eyes and a variety of seasonal fruits and vegetables to offer. Christine began the traditional and obligatory conversation, but in it she saw a hidden opportunity. Upon hearing the woman's greeting, Christine noticed the heavily accented and slightly broken French, and decided to go out on a limb for a little practice.

"Sprichst du Deutsch?" She asked congenially, "Do you speak German?"

When the woman replied excitedly in the affirmative, Christine was now tasked with trying to follow the woman's rapid, fluent German. She had, in truth, only been studying the language for about a month of so, in an effort to please her teacher, but already she comprehended enough to be able to hold a decent conversation. They exchanged words happily, the latter stumbling over a few words and struggling to keep pace, but the seller appreciated the competent effort nonetheless. It was only when Christine went to pay, finding her wallet mysteriously missing, that Erik intervened, having been watching previously from behind Christine's shoulder. The mischievous smirk on his face was enough to tell Christine who had taken it, but she didn't have time to argue before he handed bills over to the seller.

"You have been practicing your German," he commented in a fond, surprised tone, taking her bag and also bidding the seller Auf Wiedersehen before departing from her tent.

"I've been trying," she admitted, "you told me it's important."

"As wonderful a student as ever, Miss Daae." He commended her in his lush, smooth baritone, which was almost enough to make her forget about his little stunt earlier. Almost.

"And I should like my wallet back, Dr. Carriere." She looked up at him with a look of annoyance, raising an eyebrow as if to indicate that she was being serious. Despite this, he simply chuckled.

"All in due time, my dear. Now, there are several other things to see while we are here-"

"Which I need my wallet to buy," she interjected, retaining her stubbornness... until something in the corner of her eye caught her attention, immediately shifting her focus and drawing the most adorable of whines from her mouth.

A basket of kittens rested on a chair under the shade of a tent, most of which sleeping close to each other in the most adorable mound of fur and pink noses. Each kitten had a distinct fur color and pattern, suggesting that they were rescued strays, a sign reading "Adopt Me" confirming the assumption. Losing all care for the argument of only a few moments previously, Christine approached the basket, all the while cooing to the adorable little creatures inside. Of all of them, one was still awake, proving to be smaller and thinner than the rest. The runt of her litter, the kitten sported thin, cream colored fur and strikingly gold eyes.

"Oh my goodness," Christine cooed in a playful, high-pitched tone, picking up the little kitten as Erik watched in guarded adoration. She held up the adorable creature so that he could see. "You match!"

Indeed, Erik and the tiny kitten did match, both viewing the world and each other with eyes of honey and gold. It was this fact that spurred Erik to take her from Christine's willing hands, the tiny bundle of warmth and fur fitting perfectly in his palms and long fingers. While the playful little thing chewed on his thumbs and grasped at his fingers, he thought to himself for a moment. Over the last few weeks, he had gotten entirely used to his home not being empty. Of course, Christine would have to go back to her dormitory at some point, lest her roommate or her friends grow suspicious at her disappearances. She had a life, and she needed to go back to school. After all, isn't that what he was training her for? She needed her education for the greatness she was destined to achieve… but what of him? His apartment would go back to the way it was… empty. Alone. He did not want to admit it to himself yet, not even in his own mind, but he did not want to be left alone anymore. For the first time in his life, he knew what it was like to enjoy companionship, and the silence of an empty apartment seemed now too deafening to bear. Why he was thinking of such things while holding a pesky feline, he would never have any idea, but the poor thing was beginning to grow on him…

"Yes, you'll do quite nicely." Oh God, he was beginning to talk to it. Christine's gaze moved from the basket to watch him begin to stroke the kitten, who was starting to show the first attempts at a pur.

"Wait… you're going to adopt her?" Christine realized in shock, standing so that she was at least closer to Erik's height than she was kneeling.

"I've always wanted a cat." A little white lie didn't hurt anyone, did it? No, in fact, the idea to adopt the little thing came to him just a mere few moments ago, but no one had to know that. That was for the two of them to know, and the rest of the world to find out.

Erik wasted no time with approaching the adoption attendant for paperwork, realizing that none of it was particularly hard. And, in his realistic mask, people were actually happy to speak with him! Gone were the days of hushed whispers, avoidances on the sidewalks, and too-long stares. After some forms and a surprisingly enjoyable conversation with the adoption attendant, he walked away with the ownership of his new companion. Christine followed after him, still in a bit of shock at what just transpired, but otherwise endeared by how happy Erik looked.

"Have you thought about a name?" She encouraged his excitement, mostly because the only time she ever saw his eyes light up like this was when she sang.

"Ayesha," he replied quickly, encouraging the kitten's attempts at a purr with more stroking. He then realized that he couldn't possible continue their shopping with a kitten in his hands, especially because the creature was beginning to doze. "I'm sorry, Christine, I have rather uprooted your plans to go shopping."

"That's all right," she reassured him. "You go home, and I will finish up here. I only have a few more things to pick up. Speaking of which… my wallet, please."

Erik knew she was being quite serious, but he couldn't help the little smirk on his lips as he placed a couple bills in her hand, which definitely didn't come from her wallet. "Continue your shopping, and I will come get you in about an hour."

"I'm perfectly capable of finding my way back myself, and that's not what I- hey!" She giggled frustratedly when he bid her goodbye and began to walk away, leaving her with his money and a promise of his return. This was not exactly how she expected this trip to go, and though she couldn't be angry with him, she didn't like the idea of spending his money. She had already taken so much from him: voice lessons, his guest bedroom, expensive clothing… Christine cringed internally at that last one. But, it wasn't like he was giving her any choice. For now, she decided to be grateful and finish her shopping, promising herself that she would repay him later. Perhaps he would let her take him out to dinner, he seemed to like that new mask…

She traipsed happily through the farmer's market for the rest of her time there, adding to her groceries a little at a time. She came across a stall selling fresh dairy before she remembered Erik's clear instructions about its consumption, though she found compromise in a carton of almond milk by the same seller. There was an alternative for everything, these days. Upon further exploration, she also bought a jar of local honey, a tin of loose-leaf herbal tea, and more. She was just eyeing her first non-food item, a thick bundle of red wool yarn, when she heard a familiar voice of silk behind her.

"Such a pretty color."

Christine nearly jumped out of her skin in surprise, turning to find Erik and his signature fond smile gazing at her from above. She took a moment to breathe before greeting him, finding that his gaze was causing a certain pull in her stomach that wasn't there before. How strange. "It is… Mamma taught me to knit when I was a kid. It might be something nice to do, you know?"

"That sounds wonderful," he agreed, "did you find everything you wanted?"

She nodded, allowing him to peek inside her bags at the selections she made. He gave an amused chuckle when he saw the carton of almond milk, applying a commending kiss to the crown of her head. He was normally so stoic and professional when they were in public, but she couldn't help but notice the heat in her cheeks and her heart at his small displays of affection. She didn't have too long to dwell on the effect he had on her before he was picking up the bundle of yarn, purchasing them along with a set of knitting needles. After dropping them in her bag, he was perfectly content to walk by her side on the short journey home, during which he relieved her of most of the bags she carried.

Erik proved to have spent his time wisely while he was away as well, the countertop in the kitchen strewed with pet supplies as Ayesha explored the apartment. There was a little cat bed, a couple of litter boxes, toys, food, treats, and the like. Even a thin leather collar, which Erik intended to use once she got bigger. Everything was put in its respective place as Christine made herself and Erik a cup of tea, which he thanked her gratefully for before devoting his attention on her once more.

"Now, my dear, I would appreciate thoroughly if we returned to the piano," his smooth voice took on a hint of authoritativeness once more, causing Christine to abandon what she was thinking about before. "I would like to hear you sing, and we have your auditions to prepare for."


	34. Chapter 34

And, just as he instructed, this was how they spent the rest of the afternoon. Christine was all too happy to be kept in the constant swirl of his music and his instruction, for she was beginning to realize that these hours were when she was her happiest. She sang for him, and she didn't have to think. She didn't have to dwell on everything that happened, she could refuse to remember for a while. He kept her mind busy with other, more important matters: tempo and pacing, phrasing, breath placement, causing her to become lost in his rich, powerful voice. Under his watch, her voice bloomed like a sunflower yearning for the sun. He told her what to do, which in reality, was what she needed more than anything. She just needed someone to tell her what to do.

Time seemed to slip away from both of them during their sessions at the piano. Just as he suspected, music was becoming her healer, acting as the salve that kept the pain at bay and her mind in one piece. It was because of this that he was reluctant to end their lessons, for it was up to him, they would remain there forever, living out the countless days in a tide of beautiful music. But, there was always a point where her voice would give out, showing that first sign of weakness that told Erik they needed to stop. To conclude their lesson that evening - yes, it was evening now - he suggested a duet, for his voice would be the perfect reward for hours of her meticulous attention. The selection he chose, for he always chose, was easy on her tired voice and allowed him to exert most of the effort. A smile reached his eyes as he watched her become absorbed in the majesty of his voice, and he was confident that after this lesson, she was ready to audition (and receive) the solos for the choir.

Just like in the morning, the two found their way to the sofa, Christine curling against Erik's side as he continued to hum in soft, soothing tones. Going to dinner didn't sound nearly as appealing now as it did at the market that morning, and she wondered if he too would like a quiet night in. She would have to ask before everything fully slipped away, but it was so hard not to give into that voice…

"You should let me make dinner tonight," she mumbled, fully realizing it was evening. She was met with a soft shush in response, the nature of which was also entreating her to close her eyes. She decided to indulge him for a while, knowing that no harm would come of it, sinking more deeply into the wiryness of his chest as he began singing again.

All throughout the ordeal of the last few weeks, all he wanted was to be able to take her pain away. For every tear she shed in grief and suffering, he shed ten in the privacy of his bedroom, feeling hopeless and sinking deeper into the pit of his self-loathing. More than anything, he didn't want to feel useless. Despite knowing perfectly well that she needed time to heal, the days slipped by in increasing agony and frustration for him, until finally, something within her came to life again. He found himself clinging to that desperately, refusing to let go, never wanting to see the ugliness of pain on her face again. It was beginning to scare him how much he cared for her, for he was for so long used to the indifference he felt towards the entirely of humanity. But for her, he would sing, simply for the joy it brought her when he did so, and for the triumph he felt watching her relax peacefully under his gentle influence. Erik loved her like this. He wouldn't put her to sleep, no, he wanted to spend more time with her that night and an early slumber would only ruin those plans. He would only relieve her of her stubborn conscious, allowing her to rest for a while in the comfort of beautiful oblivion. She seemed only too willing to allow him to give her that comfort, and from his view, she has never looked more beautiful.

He would have been completely content to remain there with her all evening, but the rare calling of his appetite reminded him that both of them needed to eat. Lunch was abandoned entirely in lieu of their lesson, and he refused to let her go to sleep hungry. He decided that he would allow her to relax for a few more minutes while he cooked, convincing himself that she was perfectly content where she was. As he stood, she had the sense to open her eyes, but she made no attempt to follow him. Her gaze was glassy and unfocused, but she appeared comfortable and at peace, especially when a soft blanket was draped around her shoulders. Once he was gone, Christine turned her attention to the book she had left on the side table earlier, turning to her marked page and beginning to read. She didn't think about investigating where he had gone, her consciousness did not stretch that far currently, and she was perfectly content to lounge and relax until he had returned. After a short time, a curious little feline joined her on the sofa, returned from her exploration of the whole house. She was now determined to explore the expanse of Christine's lap, deciding that it was not terribly painful to stay there and be stroked.

Erik returned once dinner was completed and placed in the dining room, approaching where she sat on the sofa and looking down at the scene with a fond gaze. It was then that he decided definitely that adopting a pet was a wonderful idea, for as much as it made him happy, Christine seemed to benefit from the apprangement as well. He moved with the grace and silence of a large predatory cat, and it was only when he called her name that she had the mind to look up. The peculiar stare of his entreating eyes was enough to return recognition and lucidity to her conscious, and he watched her blink a few times with the return of her senses.

"Good evening," he greeted her playfully. "Dinner is ready in the dining room, if you would like to join me."

"I told you I was going to cook," her reply was accompanied by a tone of feigned frustration and a little smile, letting Erik know that she was irritated, but not truly angry. "How long have I been reading?"

"About an hour, no more," he replied thoughtfully, catching a knowing look from the blonde on the sofa. "You needed some rest. Come and eat."

Once again, Christine found it easier not to argue, considering no wrong was committed against her. Erik was simply doing his best to help, she convinced herself, which she should be grateful for. In fact, she should be grateful that someone was willing to take care of her at all, even if she tried to act like she didn't need it. The truth was, she did need it, desperately, at least for the time being. With this thought in mind, she followed Erik into the dining room, enticed by the savory smell of pasta and spurred by her growing appetite. Ayesha was served dinner in the kitchen, a bowl of both dry and wet food waiting for her on the floor by the sink. As Christine sat, she was overjoyed when she noticed that Erik had made himself a plate without arguing about it, making this his second meal in the same day. She didn't comment on it or commend him for the effort, for there was too much risk that it would upset him, but she gave him a smile to show that she was happy about it anyway.

Erik's plate was accompanied by a glass of wine, where Christine was presented with water, and while she understood that it was for her own good, she couldn't help but have a little stubborn fun. "No wine for me, _Dr. Carriere_?"

"I am afraid not, _Miss Daae_ ," he replied playfully, taking a mockingly slow sip from his glass. "Pity, too - this one is a vintage."

"I thoroughly dislike you," she mumbled grumpily, and while at first he was genuinely concerned, he soon realized that she was joking. He was getting better at reading her tones, and sarcasm seemed to be a common one.

"Oh, do you now?" He challenged, raising an eyebrow underneath the mask. Christine tried to read his expression through his eyes, and while she knew he was playing, it was hard to gauge a reply when she could see _so little_ of him. It was incredibly frustrating, and while she made it a habit not to mention the mask, she broke her own rule now.

"Could you take that off? It's impossible to read you over it, your eyes don't give much away." While she tried to keep her voice light and present, she could tell that Erik wasn't ready for such a forward request. Perhaps it was too soon, or perhaps he was never asked out of good will before, she would never know. His eyes became quite steely then, and he set down his glass of wine with a little more force than he anticipated.

"Christine, you should know me well enough by now to know that I wouldn't disturb you while eating." If his expression was hard to read, then his tone was even more difficult. There was a softness to his words, but also a hint of warning, as if entreating her to not ask again. Perhaps because he would give in.

"And you should know _me_ well enough to know that I don't care." She pushed a little further, not too much, as if she instinctively knew how to convince him of her good will. "Come on. It must hurt by now."

A small sigh escaped his lips then, both admitting that she was correct and admitting defeat. This mask hurt much more than his regular one, most likely because in its attempt to be realistic, it was much tighter. It was beginning to make sore spots on his already-thin skin, which would be made worse by the friction of chewing. He detested that the mask made even the most basic of tasks impossible, and he was incredibly disconcerted by the fact that she seemed to _care about him_. No one had even given it the mind before. "Allow me to change back into my normal one, if you are worried about… my comfort."

"Or you can leave it off," she suggested kindly, sympathy flooding those spectacular blue eyes right in the center of his vision. This emotion seemed entirely different than pity, and while he hated pity, he found he minded this much less. "Really, Erik. Trust me."

That was easier said than done. Of course, she understood that, but she wanted nothing more than for him to be able to trust her, especially because she trusted him so implicitly. It took him a few more moments, mulling over every potential consequence of this scenario, before he finally relented. His hands trembled slightly as they removed the mask from his face, but true to her word, Christine didn't miss a beat. She simply began to eat, following a mouthful of pasta with a sip of water.

"This is good," she commended him, twirling more pasta around her fork as she spoke. "Would be better with wine."

"Trust me, it is," he teased, surprising even himself when he followed it with a small laugh. He was eating dinner with Christine, without his mask! Just the thought terrified him, and he continually searched her face for any sign of discomfort or distress, but he found none. Was it possible that she tolerated the image of his face, that she didn't find it too horrendous to look at while eating? It seemed so, and yet he couldn't believe it was true. He couldn't believe she cared.

The rest of dinner passed in a flurry of quiet, pleasant conversation, most of which Erik barely remembered as the storm continued to rage inside of his head. He only let her see a little glimpse, though, for he certainly didn't want to frighten her. No, frightening her would bring an end to this wonderful moment much sooner than he wanted, so the best thing to do was to remain calm. If he truly longed to be normal, then an evening without the mask was just that, right? Then why was it so difficult?

Once both of them were finished, Erik took their plates to the sink to wash. He was followed, both annoyingly and amusingly, by Christine, who of course wanted to help. And, as always, he would try not to let her.

"I have the dishes tonight, Christine," he said sweetly, hoping it was enough to convince her. It never was.

"You have the dishes every night," she whined rather ungracefully. Before he could tell her no again, she stuck her hands under the stream of running warm water, looking up to him with a triumphant smirk. "See? Now you can't tell me no."

After a sign of feigned exasperation, Erik allowed her to help with the dishes, even if only because it meant that he was able to look at her as he did them. He was utterly mystified by her: she was a siren, the most alluring and beautiful of creatures, able to pull him in with a turn of her head or the sparkle in her eyes. As she always did during chores and cooking, she began to hum to herself, a bell-like sound to Erik's ears. When she sang, even when she spoke at times, it was as if nothing else mattered to him. Her voice was a balm for his burning heart, and now that he had heard it, he quite honestly believed he would die if it disappeared. If she wanted to, she could easily kill him: all she had to do was leave.

Though, Christine showed no signs of wanting to abandon him. In fact, to his ultimate shock, she seemed to be growing more attached to him by the day. Once the dishes were clean and everything was back in order, he asked her what she would like to do now, assuming that she would like some time to herself. It was getting late, and he could imagine her wanting to go to sleep, but instead she requested that they watch a movie together.

"If you're not busy, of course," she added with a small smile. Of course, she did not realize that, even if Erik was busy, he would always abandon his work in favor of her company. _How silly she was_ , Erik thought to himself.

"No, Christine, I am not busy," he reassured her, putting a full kettle on the stove before following her into the living room.

It had turned out to be a very lazy evening, for all parties involved. This was the third time Christine found herself reclining on the sofa that day, not that she was complaining. It was not long until she was curled up beside Erik, her petite form buried under a thick blanket. She held a cup of steaming tea in her hands, her eyes fixed on a movie they had picked mere minutes ago, but she had already forgotten the name of. If she told the truth, she could care less about what they were watching. Erik had shown her something of his interest that looked agreeable to her, and she had nodded without another thought. It turned out to be some sort of documentary on the life of Mozart, which was the very thing that had the ability to put her to sleep with its still frames and monotonous narration. She was rather selfish, in that sense: the only reason she had chosen the activity is because it gave her an excuse to eventually nod off next to him. Of course, she would never admit to that.

About half an hour into the movie, Christine had finished her tea, setting the cup on the coffee table in front of her before almost entirely disappearing in the warmth of her blanket. In fact, this was the last time Erik remembered seeing her move, and no more than fifteen minutes after that, he noticed that she was dreaming instead of watching the documentary. She really was the most stunning creature, even when asleep: pale eyelids gently closed in a serene expression, rosy lips parted slightly to allow for the passage of breath, a lock of golden hair resting on her cheek. He knew that now he would have the privilege of carrying her to bed, but what was the harm in kissing her forehead goodnight before he did so? And this was when he realized that he had spent the remainder of their evening without the mask.

He cursed himself suddenly for forgetting, though still being careful not to disturb the angel next to him in his self-loathing. He had meant to replace it after they ate, assuming that she only allowed him to take it off to eat. Instead, in a lapse of judgement and period of carelessness, he had forced her to deal with his face all night! No wonder she had asked to watch a movie, which required that she not look at him for a change. Oh God, he really was an idiot. Of course she had the right to be upset: she had not volunteered to spend the evening with a monster. He then vowed to keep himself masked in her presence as much as he possibly could, determined to keep the image of a gentleman alive in every way he was able. This was the man she wanted, he convinced himself. If she would settle for someone who wasn't handsome, that was her decision, but she would never chose this. No one would.


	35. Chapter 35

With amazing tenderness and caution, Erik carried her to her bed. He was careful not to wake her, for he assumed it would be terrifyingly unpleasant to wake to the sight of his bare face. He laid her duvet over her as gently as he could, watching her shift a little and eventually settle into the mattress before he left her. Surprisingly to him, he was beginning to feel tired as well, but he refused to go to sleep just yet. He had some work to do, and he wanted to maximize his time while Christine was asleep, so that he could be with her while she was awake. He pulled his laptop out of his bag, determined to shut himself in his room until his work was done. Then he would sleep a little, he promised himself.

Christine was sleeping peacefully for a time, though it was still dark outside the window when something stirred her from the depths of her slumber. Upon opening her eyes, she was still unsure of what it was, but it only took a few moments more to realize what had woken her up.

"No, no please! I swear I'll do anything, please don't-"

The instant she realized it was Erik's voice, she sat bolt upright in her bed. She was in the process of untangling herself from the bedsheets when she heard a scream, causing her eyes to widen in panic. It was unbearably painful, the sound, as if he was being tortured in the depths of hell itself. She couldn't hear any other voices, meaning there was no one else in the apartment, but something was happening. She had never heard his voice so terrified, as vulnerable as it was now, and she hardly realized what she was doing before she was rushing out of her room and towards the direction of his cries. She didn't even knock before bursting through the door of his bedroom, where she was met with a truly pitiful.

Erik's head was laid on his desk, beside the laptop screen that was still glowing with his work. He had quite obviously fallen asleep, but it was no peaceful slumber like hers, more specifically one of the night terrors that plagued him whenever he was foolish enough to fall unconscious. He was wearing his white mask, for a reason unknown to Christine, but it was skewed slightly because of his uncomfortable position resting against the desk. His eyes were clenched tightly closed, along with his jaw, and Christine knew that an expression of terror was undoubtedly on his face. She wasted no time in approaching him, trying desperately to wake him before he could repeat the cries that she swore she would hear in her own dreams.

She called his name, taking off the mask and running her thumbs along his temples in an attempt to coax him awake. It was another minute or so before she was successful, Erik starting awake and sitting up as if he was pulsed with an electric shock. The moment he opened his eyes, his arms darted out in front of him, catching Christine by the arms in a vice-tight grip. It wasn't until she called his name again, to get his attention, before he realized what he was doing and where he was. His face, now bare, held a bewildered and terrified expression, and even when he regained awareness, Christine noticed that he wasn't all there. He was confused and disoriented, even long after he let go of her, but Christine didn't hesitate to comfort him.

"Hey, it's okay," she cooed, continuing to stroke his temples with her thumbs when she noticed how much it relaxed him. "You're awake, I'm here. It's me."

Despite reminding him of who she was and where he was, recognition was absent from his eyes. It worried her, but she assumed it was shock, and though he didn't speak she noticed he was a little better now. His breathing was slowing down, and while his expression looked faraway, he didn't look as terrified as before.

"Let's get you to bed," she suggested, keeping her voice light and reassuring as she offered her hands. "Come on, you'll feel better."

After a little more coaxing, he finally had the mind to take her hands, allowing her to help him stand. Christine was able to locate the bed behind them, which was immense and modernity designed, covered in sheets of pure black. She would take a closer look at the rest of the bedroom later, she decided, but for now she needed to comfort Erik, who she had never seen in such a state. Her Erik, normally so stoic and refined, trembling from fear like a child.

She eventually convinced him to lie down in bed, his head sinking into the pillow with a shaky sigh from his lips. He didn't acknowledge her existence in any way after that, merely staring at a point on the wall behind her, looking distant and shaken. She was becoming frustrated with herself, wishing she could do more to comfort him, but unable to figure out what would help. On a whim, she decided to sing. She recalled a lullaby from her childhood, hoping that it helped, and to her utter relief, it seemed to be just what he needed. After the first verse, he was able to close his eyes, and by the end of the song, his breathing had settled into its deep, natural rhythm. Assuming he was asleep, Christine moved to stand from the bed, when suddenly a hand wrapped tightly around her wrist.

"Don't go," he begged, his voice so small that Christine struggled to hear it. He didn't repeat his request, simply holding onto her as he settled down again.

Christine was now effectively trapped there by his vice grip on her wrist, but she didn't mind much. She was quite content to stay there for a few minutes, but soon she grew drowsy once more, and he still wouldn't let go. She decided that if she couldn't beat them, join them, eventually coming to lay down next to Erik, who was now sleeping soundly. When she was beside him, the hand around her wrist released, though it quickly found new hold around her waist. This was a very peculiar situation, indeed, but she found that she did not mind it, nor did she have the sense to contemplate it for long. She, too, was surrendering to sleep, and just as she began to dream, she felt Erik's head nestle into her neck.

The first thing Erik noticed upon waking was that he was warm. Too warm. Accustomed to living his life on the comfortable verge of hypothermia, the absense of cold was enough to shock him, even more when he realized where he was. His bed was very comfortable, sheets of silk insulating the heat he now felt, even though he hadn't recalled going to bed last night. In fact, he hadn't slept in his bed in weeks, but that wasn't all. Something incredibly supple and soft was tucked against his body, held tightly against him by his own arms. It wasn't until he was entirely awake that he noticed the soft sigh of breathing that was not his own, realizing that the figure next to him was indeed another person. It was Christine.

His first instinct was to pull away from her as if he were electrically shocked, but he controlled this impulse on the realization that she was still deeply asleep. Underneath the arm that held her waist - her waist! - he felt the deep, rhythmic expansion of diaphragmatic breath, coupled with the expression of serenity on her glorious features. That face, that was now tucked into the space between his collarbone and neck, looked nothing other than peaceful. What had he done to her? Erik had spent long enough being despised on this planet to know that no one would ever willingly share a bed with him. Surely they hadn't done… But here she was. Why? It was after the realization that he must have forced her that the events of last night came tumbling back into his conscious memory like a tidal wave: falling asleep, the nightmare, the screaming… then Christine, beautiful, gentle, Christine… she was there, and she sang… and he didn't want her to go. He reached out in whatever way he could, reaching, grasping for her to stay… she wasn't going to, not of her own free will. He forced her. He forced her.

The thought of this alone was enough to make him sick, but it was made infinitely worse by the fact that he could no longer move. One of his arms was pinioned under her body, the hand sheathed in her hair, while her head rested heavily on his own body. Any movement from him would be enough to wake her, and when she did wake, he would be forced to lie there and confess to the worst crime he had ever committed. He wasn't even wearing a mask… Not only had he forced her to sleep next to him, allow him to hold her while she vulnerably slept, but he didn't even have the decency to put a damn mask on. She would awake to his nightmarish visage, perhaps as retribution for trying to help the monster who clearly didn't deserve her kindness. Perhaps he could sing to her, make her forget this ever happened, tuck her into her own bed before she woke…

But alas, it was too late for that. She was already starting to wake up! Her breath came a little deeper, shifted a little in his arms, his arms… Yes, she was definitely going to wake soon, and he prepared himself for her anger, her sense of betrayal… Those sublime blue eyes opened to greet the dawn, and with them he bore the weight of the realization that she was going to hate him now. She would never want to see him again, he would never again enjoy the sound of her voice -

"Good morning." The mumbling of that sweet voice was enough to jolt him out of his own mind. She was speaking to him, of course, who else would it be? But it was a sweet greeting, no anger… "Are you okay?"

She was asking if he was all right? Him, who didn't deserve to kiss the ground at her feet? Oh, she couldn't even begin to understand… When she began to sit up, effectively freeing his arm and the rest of his body, he knew then that it was her intention to look. But he was faster than her, fortunately, sitting up and turning his back on her to spare her from the sight of his bare face. It was now his turn to speak, utter an apology that would make none of this better, even though all he wanted to do was disappear.

"Christine," her name sounded like a curse on his tongue, his voice breaking under the immense strain of his guilt. "I'm so-..."

"Don't apologize." Her voice, still as sweet as can be, was what entirely confused him. Perhaps she was still waking up, still remembering what happened, as he had done. "I get nightmares too."

When he didn't reply - for what else could he say? - she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to turn and face her. She didn't know what she was asking for, perhaps she didn't know that he was bare, and so he didn't budge. Initially, Christine was afraid that he was angry with her, but that didn't seem to make sense. Why would he be apologizing if he was upset? God, this man was confusing.

"Erik, look at me." Despite the fact that she tried to make her tone firm, she was ignored. "Come on, please look at me."

She felt frustration well up in her chest when he only turned his head the smallest bit in her direction, but she had to consider that a victory. She didn't think she was going to get much more out of him, for whatever reason. He really was very strange in that way.

"It's still really early, so I'm going to go back to sleep," she told him, hoping to sound reassuring. She noticed that he also looked exhausted, but she innately knew that he wouldn't come back to bed unless she offered. "Would you like to join me?"

Erik's surprise was given away by his quick intake of breath, and he dared to turn his head a little more in her direction, as if he didn't quite catch what she just said. Was there any possibility of his sweet Christine forgiving him? Did he even dare to ask?

"You… You would like me to?" He questioned nervously, his voice incredibly soft. It was as if he didn't want her to hear him at all.

"Of course," she comforted him, dropping her hand from his shoulder so that she could settle under the warmth of the duvet once more. "You look tired still, and you make a great pillow."

He gave a rather undignified snort of laughter at this, but really, it was a sign of his overwhelming sense of relief. Christine had forgiven him, nor was she angry with him in the first place. Really, how silly he was! In fact, she wanted him to return to bed with her, no matter how deranged the idea sounded to Erik. And, what Christine wanted, Christine got. No matter how much he hated himself, there was no denying her, especially when she asked so nicely.

And that was how Erik found himself laying down again, despite the fact that he wanted nothing else than to run away. He could feel her eyes rake over his bare face, taking in every inch of his ghastly visage, and yet she did not shudder. She simply looked upon him with care and concern, wishing that he was all right, before leaning down and placing a gentle kiss right between his eyes. Oh, he could die! He only had time to release a little sigh of pure surprise and contentment before he felt her head rest tenderly on his chest, settling into the space between his collarbone and his neck. When he ensured that she was comfortable, he lightly placed his arm across her waist, and once she did not protest, he tightened his grip a little. It was absolute heaven just to hold her, to feel the gentle rise and fall of her breath, which exhaled warmly on his skin.

"You're so soft," he found himself saying, unable to resist the supple feeling of her skin, or the hair that smelled like honey and wildflowers.

"Thank you?" She replied with amused giggle, immediately feeling against her cheek the heat that rose to Erik's neck. He had not meant for that sentiment to be heard out loud. In order to avoid having to speak again, Erik simply began to play with a long lock of her golden hair, twisting it through his fingers as she closed her eyes. It was quite easy for her to drift off to sleep again, feeling calm and safe against his sturdy frame. Surprisingly for him, it was not difficult now to allow sleep to override his consciousness, and his light slumber was mercifully dreamless as the rest of the early morning passed.


	36. Chapter 36

When Christine once again opened her eyes, sunlight was streaming in through the lightly curtained window, giving her a comprehensive view of the space that she had neglected to view last night. The bed she was laying on was constructed of dark wood, immense and decoratively carved, clothed in black and standing in the corner of the room. The walls were painted a cool-tone grey, darker than the walls in the rest of the apartment, with black molding where it cornered the ceiling. A large desk, constructed of the same dark wood as the bed, stood in the other corner of the room, as well as a chest of drawers and a nightstand. One door presumably concealed a closet (she didn't know, for it was closed), and another lead to an en-suite bathroom, which she could view through a sliver of opening. By all accounts, it was sophisticated and classic, a combination which she thought described Erik perfectly.

Noticing that Erik was still deeply asleep, she realized that she had the rare opportunity to make them breakfast. A sweet, romantic gesture which Erik would have taken advantage of if he were the first one awake, but alas, it was not meant to be. Now, she was tasked with escaping Erik's tangle of arms and hands, which would prove to be a rather monumental feat. It was tedious, but she moved slowly and gently, eventually replacing her body with a pillow in order to avoid dropping Erik's arms onto the mattress. More than once, he almost woke up, but she found that a gentle _hush_ from her was enough to calm him back to sleep. She found this strange, but endearing nonetheless, and when she ensured that he was not going to wake, she went to cook breakfast.

When Christine returned to the bedroom, plates in hand, Erik was just beginning to open his eyes. Upon regaining awareness, he realized that what he was hugging was in fact not Christine, but one of the several pillows accompanying him on the large - yet strangely empty - bed. Though, it did not remain empty for long.

"Good morning," she greeted him kindly, sitting on the edge of the bed until he had the sense to sit up. When he did, she presented his plate to him, hoping he appreciated her effort.

In reality, Erik had no idea what to think when he was surprised with breakfast in bed. Most of the time, he neglected to eat breakfast, but his time with Christine proved to show him the joy in eating again. There was no doubt that her kindness was deeply appreciated, almost painfully so, but it also left him confused. What had he done to deserve this? More specifically, what had he done to deserve her? He never considered himself the type to become lost for words, but it was happening to him now. "... Thank you."

"I also made your coffee," Christine added, handing him a fork to eat his omelette. "it's on the nightstand. And… if I said that I didn't take a sip before bringing it, I would be lying."

Normally, he would be irritated with her defiance of his instructions, but all he could do now was chuckle. God, what was happening to him? Never had he been the type to laugh, even when something was obviously so funny. There was joy in the small things, he found now. A cup of coffee, a sip already taken off the top. An omelette, a little underdone, but a wonderful effort. Toast with too much butter for his taste, but he found that he didn't want to scrape it off. With Christine, there was happiness in everything and nothing at once.

They ate in relative comfortable silence, making conversation here and there on what they wanted to do that day. Erik lamented that he had to work, as he had neglected several meetings by this point, which were lined up to be completed by phone today. Christine decided that this would be a good day to catch up with friends, knowing that she had essentially gone missing from action for a good three weeks without telling them. Texting Meg was going to be difficult: she didn't want to explain what had happened, how her life had been altered forever, and where she had been. It was too complicated, too painful, and yet she had to. This was what friendships required, Christine understood.

Once they were finished eating, Christine made a move to take the plates, but of course she was intercepted. They argued momentarily on who would be the one to clean the dishes, as they always did, but this time Erik was more vehement than he normally was.

"You cooked, I clean," he argued stubbornly, making a move for her plate. She pulled it back.

"I made a mess of your kitchen, _I_ clean," she retorted insistently, beaming in triumph when she was successful in swiping Erik's plate off of his lap. She bounced off the bed, utterly surprised when she wasn't followed to the kitchen are argued with more. Or was she?

Yes, in reality, Erik did indeed follow her into the kitchen. He waited a few moments for her to get down the hall, stalking after her with the skill of a lion hunting its prey. His steps were absolutely silent, and Christine could have sworn that he didn't even have a shadow as he stepped into the room. Just when she was about to get her hands wet under the running sink, two impossibly strong arms wrapped around her with the speed of a viper, making her squeal in surprise as she was whisked off her feet. He lifted her as if she were lighter than a feather, making her question how strong he was before she was being carried back down the hall.

"Erik!" She cried, wriggling in mock protest as his lengthy strides placed them in her bedroom. He held her with a grip of steel, placing her on the bed with a strange gentleness after his predatory behavior.

"You really thought I was going to let you get away with that, my dear?" He asked, his voice all velvet and smooth baritone. Christine knew that he wasn't really expecting an answer, and as such, he simply left her on the bed as he strode into her bathroom. She was kept still by a growing curiosity, and after a few moments of silence, the sound of running water could be heard filling the bathtub.

"You should have some time to yourself, to relax," he purred, leaving no room for argument in his gentle, authoritative tone. The more she thought about it, a bath did sound wonderful, and she was quickly placated by that voice and the gaze of that golden stare. It really was quite strange, how much her stubbornness depleted when she was with him. If that voice asked her to jump off a cliff, she would seriously consider it. She found herself sighing a little to show her feigned annoyance at his authority, but she acceded and nodded, standing from the bed and catching one last glance at him before disappearing into the bathroom.

Just as he predicted, the bath gave Christine some time to focus on herself, doing much to relieve her tension and give her a chance to think. She was going back to her classes tomorrow, she decided. Mamma wouldn't have wanted her to wallow in her sorrow forever. The pain was still awful, and she allowed herself to shed a few therapeutic tears while soaking in the hot water, but she knew that it would end. She was going to audition for solos tomorrow, she had exams to make up, and things she needed to accomplish. She had taken the time she needed, but her time was no longer her own. She had disappeared from her life, from her friends, and from her education, which if continued, would help no one.

Once the bath water began to cool, she reluctantly stood and extracted herself from the tub. She toweled off her hair, and once it was just damp, she wrestled it into two braids before she dressed for the day. She was planning on going out, so she couldn't look a complete mess. When she was finished, she emerged from the bedroom, noticing that Erik seemed to have returned to his room to work. Instead of bothering him, she simply left him a note on the countertop.

"Erik -

I am going out for a little while so that I will not bother you while you work. Please text me if you would like me to come back tonight for dinner, but if you want to be by yourself, that's fine too. If you need anything, also text.

With love,

Christine"

Christine smiled a little to herself as she wrote the signature, musing of how Erik will react to the little romantic flourish it gave. She then took her bag, holding her phone and wallet, as she left quietly through the front door. She took the elevator down to the lobby, taking a deep breath as she emerged to a crisp winter morning. Her goal for that day was to do some shopping, perhaps visit a cafe, and most of all, reconnect with her friend who was probably worried sick about her. It only took two rings for Meg to pick up her phone.

"Where the hell have you been?!" Christine heard her roommate nearly shriek over the phone.

"Before you start freaking out, I'm fine," Christine answered apologetically. "I'm so sorry I haven't called-"

"What happened?" Meg inquired rather rudely, though she had no idea what she was asking.

"I'd rather talk about it in person," Christine replied, purposefully being cryptic. She wanted to see her friend, and if it took invoking some morbid curiosity to accomplish that task, she would do so. "What about some coffee?"

"Anywhere is fine, Chris. Just send me an address, and I'll be there."

After exchanging a few more assurances and pleasantries, the girls ended their call, though there was still much to be explained. Once Christine had found a suitable little cafe in the middle of Paris's shopping district, she texted Meg the address, settling down at a table to wait. It wasn't long until she was no longer alone, and before she could catch a good glimpse at her friend, she was being tackled in a hug.

"You just disappeared on me," Meg muttered while squeezing the life out of Christine with her surprisingly strong dancer's arms. After Christine apologized once again, Meg sighed and let go. "Come on, we'll order, and you'll tell me everything."

It was the lull right between the morning rush and lunch, so the pair did not have to wait long before they were seated once more with their drinks. Meg had decided on some chocolate-dairy-coffee concoction with whipped cream, while Christine settled for a cup of hot, non-caffeinated tea.

"Wow, where's the fun in that?" Meg asked jokingly, causing Christine to laugh at the irony of it all.

"No caffeine, no dairy," she explained simply. "He's pretty strict, but it's for the best."

"Wait, _he_ as in…?" A nod from Christine confirmed Meg's suspicions, her eyes going wide with surprise. "That's still going on?"

"Yeah," Christine replied vaguely, though the look on Meg's face revealed that she was dying for more. "And, uh... Mamma didn't make it."

The curious look of Meg's face dropped in an instant, replaced with an expression of remorse and deep sympathy, she reached out across the table and took Christine's hand. "Oh my God, Chris… I'm so sorry."

All Christine could muster up as a response was a quiet _thank you_ , as she took a few moments to collect herself. In those few seconds of silence, it made sense to Meg why she hadn't heard from Christine in so long, though that didn't answer the question of where she was. She was nervous to ask, but she needed to know, even if the answer wasn't what she expected.

"So, were you at your house? Getting everything in order?"

"Uh… no, actually," Christine admitted. "Erik took care of everything, I think. I don't remember."

"You… don't remember?" Meg asked warily, her expression morphing into one of concern and slight suspicion. It didn't go unnoticed that Christine and the headmaster were now on a first-name basis. "Christine… what happened?"

"I apparently had a bit of a breakdown," she explained, though her tone didn't come without embarrassment. "She died, and I… I couldn't cope. I would have called you sooner, but I wasn't able to for a while. I wasn't able to do anything."

Meg mumbled a few words of assurance, letting her know that it was okay, but she eventually urged her friend to continue. She had a feeling that they were getting to what Christine wanted to tell her, but didn't have the courage to yet. And she would be right.

"I've been staying with him, the entire time I was away."

This, Meg was not expecting.

"The headmaster."

"Yes."

"For three weeks."

"... Yes."

"At his place?"

Tired of verbally confirming all of her friend's accurate guesses, Christine nodded to seal her fate. Despite appearing to be innocent and naive, she knew exactly how this looked, and she wished that she could find the words to say that it wasn't like that. Thankfully, Meg's words filled the void enough to continue the conversation.

"Mom tells me he's like… terrifying," Meg responded, for lack of a better word. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I don't know what I did to make him like me, but he does," Christine countered, just as surprised as her friend. Though, she took this chance to wrap up Meg's doubt with assurances. "A lot. And I was scared at first too, but... I really don't know what I would have done without him."

"Well, as long as you're happy," Meg said, albeit a little reluctantly. Though she was still concerned for her friend, and still had more questions, she was anxious to get off of such an awkward topic. "I just worry about you sometimes. Promise you'll tell me if you need anything, from now on?"

"Always." Christine left her reply simple, taking a sip of her tea as if to close the matter. She didn't want to talk about this anymore, and she was grateful that Meg wasn't going to make her. It was all too private, the pain too fresh. There was only one person who seemed to understand the depth of it all. "Now, let's talk about something happier. What's been going on at school?"

Always happy to spill some trivial gossip, Meg began her long-winded recount of everything that Christine missed. There was a huge party in a fraternity off campus, which Meg went to, relaying all the details of her admittedly very long night. There was some relationship drama between two dancers Christine had never even heard of, but she was happy to listen anyway. Meg, though she was a loyal and trusted friend, was a bit of an airhead at the best of times. That bubbly, carefree quality was a good match for Christine, who was always analyzing, always worrying: it taught her how to let her hair down… when it was appropriate, of course. And now seemed the perfect time to do so.


	37. Chapter 37

_Love._

 _Love, love, love._

 _With love._

What did it mean to send something "with love"? What was she thinking of when writing those words? Did she kiss the page before she put it down? Did she smile, scrunching up her nose in that adorable way when she does? He could imagine her writing those words, though in his mind, they would never be for him. But, according to his name on the top of the paper, this note was meant for him. She left this note, with love, for him.

Did she love him? On the surface, one could say from this note that she did, but Erik knew better. There were infinitely many possibilities for the origin of such a thing. Perhaps with love was a customary signature on a note of this nature. She wanted to reciprocate his affection in an innocent, socially-accepted fashion, and chose the appropriate closer. Yes, he could see his Christine showing an innocent affection for him, nothing more than warm nights on the sofa and the beauty of their music. But the love that he felt for her… it burned. It burned with a heat that he had never felt, scorching his cool skin with an inferno that he was entirely unprepared for. It had come so fast, taken everything he knew about himself and consumed it within the depths of such a feeling, leaving him to start from scratch. He loved her, and he loved her so much that it hurt.

He had gotten a taste of that love the previous night. He held her while she slept, pulled her close to his cold, undeserving skin. She was so warm and soft, she was everything he had never gotten a chance to experience. Sleeping alone was an experience Erik had gotten used to, due to lack of an alternative, and not sleeping at all was something even more common. The nightmares came when he was vulnerable, after all. But there were no nightmares that night. He slept soundly, with Christine… and that heat! It followed him everywhere he went now, this burning, itching, uncomfortable ache in his chest that he was quite sure would kill him someday. In this sense, he missed being cold. He missed the comfort, the predictability of being frigid, when people were just pawns and each day blurred into the next. There would be nothing special about the passage of time… There would be nothing special about Christine.

But there was something so special about her! Christine had made him warm now! With her very presence, she had melted the ice around his suffering heart, forcing him to face the fact that he wanted to live. He had been merely existing as a ghost for years, so much so that he had lost track of his own age. Although, back then, he was perfectly content to exist that way for the rest of his life, he could see now how miserable that had been. No, he wouldn't settle anymore, not for one more second. He wanted to live. And that terrified him.

Christine had pulled him into the light, but how long would she be happy to continue dragging his weight? She had turned this ghost into a man, but could he expect her to continue to be patient, to keep loving someone like himself? Erik could not find the words to describe her, so radiant that the world "beautiful" turned into an insult. There were infinitely many ways that he could remember that porcelain skin, those cheeks that blushed with the hue of roses, and that golden hair which danced in the light like a halo. When he first laid eyes on her that night, he was convinced that he was struck with the image of an angel. But that angel carried a corporeal body, a heart that beat just like his… a heart that beat for him.

He wanted nothing more than to admit that she didn't love him, to stop torturing himself with the possibility that she might just return his affection. But, the truth was, she did. He could see it right before his eyes! The way she looked at him during lessons, as if he were the sun she alone revolved around. When he sang to her, she melted at the sound of his voice, allowing him to show her a side of himself that no one else knew… When they slept together that night, he awoke to find her content in his arms, perfectly at peace with where she was. To Erik, she was a miracle. A miracle he would fight to the death to keep.

And that brought him to his work today. Although he missed immensely having Christine in the house, he was grateful to be alone to conduct his business, since there was no way he would be able to focus with his temptress so close. And he needed to focus on this… it was about her, after all. Yes, he tried very hard - and succeeded - in keeping this secret, and to his delight, she did not expect a thing. They continued their lessons, working tirelessly to hone in on her craft, though to his songbird, her career still seemed so far away. Little did she know how close to a breakthrough she was.

The gala had been a resounding success for Christine's introduction into the world of opera. Not only did the performance give her the confidence she needed to continue her lessons with attentiveness and dedication, but it showcased that she, even so young and so new, was in for an astounding career. A career, in fact, that many wanted to be part of. Since that night, countless colleagues had contacted Erik about Christine's performance schedule, as they assumed that she was being managed by him (of course, she wasn't, but that would have to be remedied quite soon as well). Offers for solos in oratorios and parts in opera had become such a common occurrence that Erik had to set time in order to sift through them all. Well, he had done that, and today was the phone meeting with the production he has chosen to be Christine's debut.

It was all very professional, involving some negotiation and an immense amount of ass-kissing by the man on the other end of the phone. Erik remembered Dr. Greene from the gala night: a hair-brained, but essentially capable man, currently serving as the new artistic director for the Paris National Opera. Being in such a new and highly prestigious position, the man was extremely impressionable, which served to Erik's advantage. Having already spoken to Christine on gala night, and after hearing her sing, he was absolutely convinced that he needed to be involved in her opera debut. And of course, Erik was not one to argue that point. He wanted only the best for his love, after all.

He allowed himself to remain elusive, essentially forcing Dr. Greene to chase after him, until the man could take it no more. A contract was sent and negotiated, modified and resent, until Erik was entirely satisfied. Informing the man that he would have the contract signed by _Miss Daae_ and returned in a timely manner, Erik then set to work on his own contract, both of which would be presented to Christine that night. A romantic dinner, he imagined, perhaps out at a restaurant. He would allow her to have a glass of wine to celebrate the occasion. Everything would be perfect, and he could hardly stand the wait.

When Christine returned to his apartment that afternoon, she was met with the sublime sound of him composing. Full to the brim with creative energy and excitement, Erik didn't know what else to do other than to play, expressing his joy through the strings of his beloved violin. It was several long moments until he realized that she had returned home, ceasing his playing and coming to greet her in the foyer.

"Ah, you're back." He tried to contain his elation at this fact, instead keeping his tone at its usual cool color. She gave him a fond smile, one which further melted his already molten heart. "You dressed warmly, I hope?"

"Yes, of course," she greeted him warmly, following him further into the apartment. "Did you get much work done while I was away?"

"Lots, in fact." He tried not to give anything away, but it was just so difficult. Just a few more hours, he told himself placatingly. "We will discuss it more later. For now, have you eaten lunch yet?"

She shook her head, commenting that he should eat as well. Surprisingly, he found that he was able, and he led her to the kitchen to make something for the two of them while he continued to speak. "We will eat, and I would like to hear you sing today. We will not do anything major, but the voice has to be kept warm."

Christine agreed with this course of action, thanking Erik once he set a plate in front of her, containing a sandwich. After a bit of urging, he made one for himself as well, and together the two passed lunch with pleasant conversation, as always. They found that it was easier to speak to one another more than ever, with exchanges such as Christine going back to school tomorrow or Erik's meeting to cast the senior production of Faust on Wednesday. Of course, he was dying to cast Christine as Marguerite, but that would have to wait until later. Nepotism of that sort would be overtly obvious, and as much as he hated it, the role had to go to Carlotta Guidicelli. There would be a riot if it didn't.

As per a usual day in the apartment, the afternoon was passed in the customary swirl of music that neither occupant could get enough of. When Christine sang, especially now, it was like she could breathe again, the stale air of grief and sorrow pushed out of her lungs with the effort it took to produce beautiful song. It cleared her head, it helped her concentrate, and most of all, it made life not seem so bleak. And, as always, Erik would never deny himself the pleasure of teaching her. Her voice was growing by the day, improving with steady progress that surpassed even his high expectations. He could only imagine what she would sound like opening night.

"Are you available the rest of tonight?" He asked once they had finished their lesson, not wanting to assume.

"Of course," she replied, albeit a little confused. It was now mid-evening, the time they would normally wind down with some dinner, perhaps a movie if she wasn't too tired.

"Then I would love to have the pleasure of taking you to dinner," he offered, just as he had been rehearsing in his head for hours. He saw her head immediately perk up at this, intrigued, and he followed his statement with, "if you would like to, of course."

"Dinner out?" She asked curiously to clarify, growing excited and nervous at the same time. When Erik confirmed her suspicions, she answered, "of course, I'd love to."

Erik allowed himself to internally beam at this victory, standing from the piano to his full height. "Would a half hour to change be sufficient?"

She agreed, and before Erik could abandon his plans and spill his surprise right there, she disappeared into the guest bedroom to prepare. She was eternally grateful that Erik had the mind to take her favorite sweater, and even more grateful when she discovered that it was clean. She also took the time to apply a small amount of makeup - which she almost never did - mainly some lip gloss and mascara. She did not spend a lot of time on her outfit or her face, for she knew that her hair was going to take the most of her time. She took the braids she had been wearing out, ran some product through it to reduce a majority of its frizz, and after combing and pinning it back, she deemed herself presentable enough to go out.

He took the time to freshen up and dress as well, combing his hair back and changing into a fresh pair of his customary black ensemble. His preparation took much shorter time than Christine, for all he had to do was affix the realistic mask to his face, checking for unusual seams and alignment before he was ready to face the world. It was then that he phoned a local bistro to expect their arrival, and after he was done, he tucked the contracts into the inside of his coat. Once he emerged from his isolation to meet Christine in the living room, he in fact saw that she was already there.

"You look stunning." His voice was all quiet breathiness, the sentiment immediately causing her to blush pink. She thanked him, and after a few more moments of less-than-subtly staring at her, he suggested that they get going.

On the way to the lobby, Christine asked where they were going, and after learning of their destination suggested that they walk. While he was intending to drive, he agreed that it would be much easier if they instead took the light stroll, of course after confirming that she was indeed dressed warmly enough for the occasion. He seemed to often forget that, with this mask, evening walks on the sidewalks of Paris were now possible without the glares and questioning looks of passers by, a luxury which he would definitely never take for granted. Of course, Christine wouldn't have cared if he chose to go out maskless, but she noticed that he seemed all too happy to look normal, and she wouldn't take that joy from him.


	38. Chapter 38

When they stopped in front of their destination, Christine almost asked Erik if he had the right place. It was quaint and classic, bearing a family name and crest on both the sign and the door, a signifier of the reputation of the restaurant they were about to step into. Not only did it look expensive, but it felt expensive, and Christine realized that she was completely out of her element. When he had said dinner out, she expected pizza, perhaps a cafe. Nothing like this.

When a waiter called Erik's name, she realized that he had made reservations, and they were led to a beautifully set table for two in a cozy corner of the restaurant. They were right against the window, allowing Christine to peer at the pedestrians on the street and the way the fading light glinted off of the sidewalk. In fact, she wasn't paying attention when their waiter approached their table, asking Erik if there was an occasion to be celebrated as a way to start a conversation.

"Occasion enough to call for a bottle of your best vintage," he replied smoothly, handing the waiter the wine menu without a glance at it. The waiter nodded politely and walked away, leaving Christine slightly reeling from the exchange.

"This is a beautiful restaurant," she had the mind to say, her voice a little softer than it normally was in conversation. He chose not to comment on this, instead allowing her to settle into the luxury around her on her own. He had enough to tell her that night.

"It is, isn't it?" Erik followed, taking a moment to look around. He then realized that he had absolutely no idea what to say to her, instead commenting on the first thing that he saw. "Have you had a chance to look at the menu?"

She shook her head, and instead of replying she chose to glance down at the menu in front of her. Although it was a rather small selection, limited to steaks and French dishes of classical origin, she still had no idea what she wanted. Just as she was about to give up - when in reality it had been no more than a few seconds - the waiter returned to the table with a bottle of wine. After setting two glasses on the table, the waiter opened the bottle with a customary flourish, first beginning to pour Erik's glass. Christine was just about to refuse wine, as she knew she should, when she found that Erik was smiling at her quite strangely. When the waiter poured her glass, she didn't protest, and neither did he, and when Erik ordered the menu of the night, she did as well. _That was easy enough_ , she thought pleasantly.

When Erik found that Christine was staring perculiarly at her wine glass instead of drinking it, he gave a small chuckle, leading by example by taking a sip from his. "Enjoy it. You have showed self-restraint for a good while, and it should be rewarded."

Erik watched as she acceded, taking a first sip from her glass with little sigh of pleasure. It was absolutely delicious, and disappeared easily over the span of a few courses and light conversation. He allowed the food and wine to settle, watching her visibly relax under the dimmed light of the bistro. He wanted to wait until just the right moment, not wanting to spring the surprise too early, not when delayed gratification was so sweet.

That perfect time came in the lull preceding the main entree, when the second course was finished and taken away. Erik poured himself a second glass of wine, but Christine abstained, for the first had already given her cheeks a little redness and she did not want to inebriate herself. It was then that Erik shifted their natural conversation, his velvety baritone becoming a little firmer as he took hold of the subject.

"Actually, Christine, there is a reason I brought you here tonight."

"Oh?" She replied curiously, flashing him that adorable little smile that always served to turn his heart to putty. For a split second, she imagined that he might propose, but she quickly convinced herself that was not going to happen. Erik thought of saying more, but he wanted to surprise her completely, which would only be ruined by a lengthy explanation on his part. He simply reached into his coat, taking out the first stapled packet of paper - his contract - and setting in front of her gently.

Her brow furrowed in the way it always did when her curiosity was peaked, and she peered down at the cover page of the packet with a critical eye. After scanning the first few lines and being met with nondescript lawyer jargon, she then looked to the man across from her for an explanation.

"Christine, do not take this lightly when I say that you are in for an astounding career," he began, doing his best to look pleasant and reassuring, but serious all the while. "Though, forgive me when I say that you are very young and inexperienced, and therefore it is a poor idea to trust you with the bureaucratic nightmare that is organizing your life as a performer. This contract - should you accept - gives me permission to take care of all of that for you. In short, I would like to manage you."

For a few moments, Christine sat stock still, looking at Erik almost as if he grew a second head. It was not of any ill will, as Erik understood entirely, but from the pure shock of receiving such an offer. As Erik had expected, she was completely unprepared for such an exchange, and it almost made him laugh to see clearly how deeply honored and surprised she was.

"I… I have no idea what to say," she admitted truthfully, looking terribly lost in the midst of processing all of her emotions. "I'm so honored that you would do something like that for me."

"I would do anything for you, my dear." To say that he was telling the truth in that moment would be an understatement. In reality, if it would make Christine smile, he would cut out his own heart with a letter opener. But for now, the least he could do was pull out a pen from his jacket. "Though, there is more I have to discuss with you, but it requires you signing that before I do so."

She nodded, taking a moment to breathe before she took the pen from his offering hands. Normally, she would have opted to read something of this nature thoroughly before she signed it, but this was Erik, who she trusted implicitly. And so, as he requested, she added her signature to his at the bottom of the last page, handing the contract back to his waiting hand before he continued. To her further shock, he pulled out yet another packet, setting it in front of her to scan before he said anything. Her face, which had turned rosy from the wine, drained of all color when she read the letterhead at the top of the page: Paris National Opera.

"You remember Dr. Greene from the gala last month, do you not?" He asked simply, waiting patiently until she lifted her head and nodded before he continued. "Well, he has recently been appointed as the new artistic director for the Paris National Opera. And you made quite the impression."

He waited another few moments to allow her to process these words, taking care not to overload her with too much at once. She was already in shock as it was, poor dear. "The next production of the season is currently casting, and he reached out to me, naturally. I do think Gilda in Rigoletto would make quite the debut, don't you?"

Erik almost gave into the urge to chuckle when Christine's only reply was the silence of her shock, the full impact of the news hitting her like a tidal wave. It was only when her breathing became quite shallow that he became truly concerned, choosing to pour her another glass of wine instead of watch her suffer.

"Christine, as much as I would love to carry you home, watching you pass out in the middle of a crowded restaurant is not my idea of a good evening," he joked lightly in an attempt to calm her down. "Drink that, it'll help."

In an attempt to stem the flurry of emotions that threatened to swallow her whole, Christine did exactly as he instructed, taking a sip of the wine that was offered to her as she tried to remember how to breathe. When she finally managed it, she then looked for the strength to talk, knowing that she probably wasn't reacting in the way that he had originally intended.

"You're joking, right?" She asked, her expression clearly giving away the fact that she was stunned. "You have to be joking, this can't be real."

"I assure you whole-heartedly that it is," he promised, looking at her with his customary fond gaze. "Rehearsals begin after the New Year."

The fact that she could hardly breathe was evidence enough to how overwhelmed she was, but Erik could see that it was a good feeling. She couldn't express it then, but there was no end to how deeply honored she was to have the opportunity, even if she personally believed she didn't deserve it. After all, who else had the chance to perform their debut with the Paris National Opera, during their first year of conservatory no less? It was simply unreal.

"I just… I just don't know how this happened." She repeated her sense of absolute shock, leaving Erik entirely amused at how much he managed to surprise her. He was not able to reply right away due to the arrival of their main course, but they were soon alone once more to continue their conversation.

"I really don't think you know how talented you are, my dear," Erik commented, after which he took a moment to look down at his plate. "Filet mignon - suitable for an occasion such as this, hmm?"

"I suppose so," Christine replied sweetly, still wholly unfamiliar with the concept of such luxurious dining, even for celebrations. Of course, Mamma Valerius and her lived comfortably with a decent amount of money, but it was never frivolously spent on activities such as this. In fact, Christine's childhood was filled with memories of home-cooked meals, movie nights at home, and other such activities between her and her beloved guardian. And, once those memories were brought to the surface, they were met with the pooling of tears.

"I'm sorry," she immediately murmured, quickly wiping the tears away from her eyes. She knew that she didn't offer an explanation of her thoughts before she began tearing up, and he was probably very confused and flustered. "I should be happy, and trust me I am -"

"It's difficult, I know," he cooed, immediately understanding where her thoughts were going. "And you wish that she was here."

"More than anything," she agreed, taking a breath to compose herself and taking another sip of wine. Surprisingly to Christine, he did not grow overly concerned at her little outburst, and she assumed that he probably became used to her more emotional side over the last few weeks. Either way, he allowed their dinner to continue without much intervention. "Though, everything happens for a reason, I suppose."

"Indeed," Erik replied simply, choosing to change the topic of conversation to something more pleasant, lest Christine grow upset again. "Rigoletto is a stunning opera, and I look forward to teaching it to you."

"I have seen it a few times now, and listened to it more," she commented. "It is beautiful, but there is so much that can go wrong… Gilda's Act One aria is difficult."

"It is nothing that you cannot get through. I would never have you perform something that would potentially damage your voice. The last thing we need is for you to become injured."

She nodded, though a bit nervously at the thought of what was to come, but assured him wholeheartedly that she believed him. The rest of the dinner was spent in conversation about tomorrow's audition, the classes she would return to, and the like, general topics that Erik knew would not cause emotional upset. After a course of crème brûlée, which just so happened to be one of Christine's favorite desserts, the bill was placed in front of Erik by their waiter. Christine cringed internally upon wondering how much the bill was, but Erik simply placed his card in the sleeve without a second glance. Instead of bringing up this fact, knowing full well that it was entirely within Erik's budget, she chose to thank him.

"Dinner was wonderful," she told him earnestly as they stood from the table. In a move that surprised him entirely, she took his arm, allowing him to lead her into the Paris night like a gentleman. "Thank you for tonight, and for everything."

"The honor is mine," he replied, in the fashion of a true gentleman. "We shall make wonders together, Christine, you know that by now."


	39. Chapter 39

**Author's Note: *very dramatic Wagner overture in the background* Guess who's back, everyone! My finals went fantastic, I aced Gen Chem, and in celebration I have decided to sit down and write! This chapter is a little short, but I found that this was a natural stopping point and it was better to give you something than have you wait more. Enjoy, and please review!**

The walk home in the Paris evening was dreamlike, to say the least. The street lamps illuminated the pavement underneath their feet to a moonlight-like glow, enhancing their idyllic scene with just the right amount of ambiance. The night was still young, and though Erik and Christine preferred to be homebodies, the same could not be said for patrons of the shopping district. Most shops were still open, displaying a wide variety of luxury clothing that Christine loved to look at, but could never afford. She simply liked the act of window shopping, though, taking in the charming sight of dressed-up boutique mannequins as their slow stroll led them closer to Erik's home once again.

Though their walk was relatively silent, it was not without thought, especially for Christine. She thought of the future, in many respects, more than she had in a long while. Mamma was gone, despite how much she tried to deny it. She often woke up in the morning to a moment of bliss and ignorance, thinking absentmindedly if Mamma was awake to call before realizing the crushing reality of her situation. She wondered if it was normal to constantly forget the reality which she wished so desperately to be untrue, if something was wrong with her for being unable to keep herself together. It scared her even more now that she had a future. Thanks to Erik, her career was beginning sooner than she had ever expected. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, and though she was unable to keep herself from being elated, she doubted if she was ready. They worked constantly, her voice developing into something she had never imagined. She hardly recognized herself when she sang, Erik's genius now laced into every note, every texture of her spectacularly clear pitch. She was like a moth to his flame, the ember of his everlasting genius, but she was too afraid to let herself become wholly absorbed in him. She was afraid to admit how much she loved him.

The fact that she loved anyone, especially now, was nearly enough to send her reeling. How could her love and her grief exist in the same plane? How could she allow herself to bask in the joy of her affections when her beloved guardian would never feel the sun again? She felt so selfish, yet so conflicted all at once. Despite how guilty she felt, she knew whole-heartedly that Mamma would not want her to wallow in her grief forever. She continually told herself this in an attempt to keep the shame at bay, and while it worked most times, it didn't even begin to scratch the surface of her feelings that night. Through Erik, she has been given the singular opportunity to live, but it meant abandoning everything she feared. She was afraid of her career, afraid to let Mamma go, and more than anything, she was afraid to love. But, for his sake, she was determined to try.

-0-

Today would have been like any other Monday. It would have been completely normal, had it not been for the fact that it was Christine's first day back at school after a three week hiatus. Had it not been for the fact that she was returning with a piece of her missing, a piece that was now buried in the ground with her Mamma. For the first time since her acceptance to the Institute, she was not excited about going to class. She couldn't bear to think of the stares, the hurried explanations, the condolences. A part of her wished that no one had noticed she was missing, but that was impossible. She had missed midterm exams, and now finals were right around the corner. She had a lot of catching up to do, and despite this fact, she found herself procrastinating her departure for as long as possible. So there she sat, dozens of scenarios rattling about in her head, in the bathtub where the water was beginning to go cold. She wondered how long she had been there when a soft knock sounded on the door, knocking her out of her silent reverie.

"Christine," a soft, luscious voice was muffled by the door, "I don't want to disturb you, but you will be late for class."

"I know," she called back, trying to hide the nerves from her voice, though she knew that Erik would be able to tell either way. Well, there was no hiding it now. "I… I don't feel well. I think I'm going to stay here."

There was a tangible pause from behind the door, as Erik tried to figure out what to say to her. He knew she was terrified of going back, and he felt for her. It was not going to be easy, but he feared that the longer they waited, the less likely it would be that she returned at all. She had to go today, and he was determined to make sure it happened.

"When you come out, we will talk," he replied vaguely, leaving her to herself for a time. While he was obviously very concerned, he didn't want to appear too overbearing. By this time, he had gotten used to how to handle Christine, especially when she was so nervous. She needed a firm hand, he remembered, but she also needed space to breathe. It was agony leaving her alone, waiting for her to emerge from the bathroom, but managing it would be worth it. He had a duty, both as her companion and her headmaster, to get her back to school.

She did it, eventually. She found the strength to stand from the now-tepid bathwater, to wrap a towel around herself and comb through her hair before it became a knotted mess. She convinced herself to take the time to put her hair up into a bun, remembering how it used to bother her during lectures. It took her a bit longer to decide on what to wear, but she eventually settled on something comfortable and practical. Essentially, she was procrastinating the time when she would finally have to open the door and face the day, even though she knew Erik was waiting.

"Ah, there you are," he greeted her tenderly when she appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. The air was thick with the scent of hot tea, eggs, and butter, evidence of Erik's work in the kitchen. He wanted everything to be perfect today: nothing could go wrong, considering how fragile she was. She was so nervous, even in his home, where she had grown so comfortable over the weeks. He noticed the tension in her shoulders, the shortness of her breath, all pointing toward the fact that she didn't want to go anywhere that day.

"Sorry I took such a long time," she apologized, her cheeks going a bit red as she took her seat at the island. "Thank you for making breakfast."

"My pleasure." He set a plate of eggs and toast in front of her, coupled with hot tea. He debated in his head of mentioning anything about her current mood, eventually decided to bite the bullet. After all, women liked when he showed concern, right? "You'll feel better when you eat, Christine."

She nodded, hoping with every fiber of her being that he was right. Her hands shook as she reached for her teacup, which steamed with the soothing scent of herbs and honey. She greatly appreciated the gesture, and just as he predicted, it was nice just to know he cared. It took a few minutes of sipping her tea and moving her eggs around with a fork before her stomach settled enough to eat, but her first bite was promising, and told Erik that she was moving in the right direction. He stood across from her with his customary cup of coffee, attempting to engage in conversation that he hoped would distract her from her internal turmoil. Breakfast was a rather uncomfortable affair, but he knew that it was necessary, allowing her space as she gathered her things and followed him out the door.

The drive to campus was spent in a more uncomfortable silence than they usually shared, mostly due to the fact that Christine was spending all of her energy trying to keep herself together. She couldn't even think of breathing, let alone speaking, and each minute that passed brought her closer to the thing she feared the most. The uncomfortable exchanges, the explanations… she scarcely noticed when Erik's Mercedes stopped in the parking lot by her dorm, showing through the window the place she had been avoiding for weeks. She felt sick.

"I… I can't," she whispered after a few moments of bated breath. She knew Erik was waiting for her to get out of the car, but she couldn't get herself to move.

"Yes, you can," he replied patiently, his voice ringing in honeyed tone. "I know you can."

She tried to reply, but words seemed to be lost on her as her eyes filled with tears. She tried to fight it, she really did, but she couldn't deny the fact that she was afraid. Upon seeing this, Erik resisted the urge to cry as well, suddenly wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. It was times like this that he thanked his past self for heavily tinting his windows, not wanting to be the spectacle of passers-by.

"Oh, Christine…" he cooed, leading her head to his shoulder with fingers buried in her hair. "My dear, please don't cry…"

"I'm sorry," she gasped through contained sobs, knowing she probably looked and sounded exceptionally foolish.

"Don't apologize." In an attempt to calm her down, he continued to hold her close, despite the voice in his head that told him he shouldn't be doing so. He was still genuinely shocked that, of all the people in the world, she would come to him for comfort. But whatever he was doing seemed to he helping, for her breathing began to even and the tears were drying on his shirt. "That's it, just breathe."

She did as she was told, taking another few moments to compose herself before she pulled away from Erik. He secretly missed her touch as soon as it was gone, but he would never admit it, just grateful that she was feeling better.

"I will see you later," he assured her, watching her as she fished her bag from the back seat. "If you need anything, please let me know."

"I'll be fine." She sounded like she was convincing herself more than Erik, but he decided not to comment on this. Instead, she pressed a bold, but chaste kiss to Erik's jaw before getting out of the car, leaving him to his utter shock as she made her way to her first class.

It took him a few moments to even register what happened, dreamily lifting a hand and grazing his fingertips over the spot her lips had touched. It felt like he had been kissed by fire, his blood coursing through his veins with just a little more heat than it had been before. With a little chuckle at his state, he cursed her in his head, for he had no idea how he was going to be able to focus on his work now. As it was, he was hardly able to pull out of the small student parking lot, his mind wandering all the way to his parking space on the other side of campus.

Just as he predicted, Erik's day was incredibly unproductive. Despite the work piling up on his desk and the never-ending list of tasks to finish, he found himself sketching her face in the margins of his schedule, like some love-struck teenage boy. He really was very frustrated with himself: this had never happened to him before Christine, and he couldn't figure out how to stop himself from thinking about her. He had several meetings that day, all of which were so insignificant that he couldn't remember them. He was sure he spent the entire time snapping at the poor saps who found themselves in the room with him, but that didn't matter to him now. Now, it was nearly three o'clock, and he hasn't seen Christine in nearly five hours, and he was itching like a drug addict without a fix. If he didn't see her soon, he was quite sure he would die. Oh, how pitiful was he? He checked the clock again, remembering that she was to have her Chamber Choir rehearsal right about now. He was the headmaster, wasn't he? Perhaps it was time for him to make an unexpected visit, you know, for science.


	40. Chapter 40

Despite the fluttering of her own panicking heart, Christine found that her day did not go as monumentally bad as she thought. Her professors spent a few moments giving her uncomfortable condolences, but the focus was soon shifted to rescheduling her several missed exams to the next week, right before finals. It was inopportune timing, to say the least, but it was necessary if she didn't want to fail and fall behind. She sat in lecture, half paying attention and barely mustering the energy to take notes. Despite her extended absence, she found that she actually did not miss much. _The luxury of being in introductory classes_ , she supposed. Advanced Music Theory proved to be much more difficult after missing so much class, but she reassured herself by saying it was nothing she couldn't handle. Christmas vacation was coming soon, and if she just held on, her and Mamma would bake cookies and-

Oh.

It was the first time she realized that she might very well spend Christmas alone this year. She took a sip of her tea to prevent her from bursting into tears during lecture, and it just barely took the edge off. She thought she could handle the pain of being alone, but even the thought of solitude during what normally was such a happy time was enough to crush her. She imagined Meg and her mother decorating their tree, sitting down for dinner with all of her extended family around a table only built for six. It could have been anyone, really: her imagination simply needed faces for her dream of domestic holiday bliss. That was how it used to be for Christine, too, but Death proved to be less kind to the Daae's.

She thought of inviting Erik for Christmas, but she was sure that he had other plans: invited to dinner by someone rich and dignified, or perhaps he had family to visit. His mother had every reason to be proud of him, she reasoned. No, he couldn't possibly want to spend the holidays with her. Perhaps he would cancel his plans out of pity for her, if she asked, or offer to drag her along to somewhere she clearly didn't belong. She didn't want that for him. If Mamma taught her anything, it was to not be a burden. She would be celebrating Christmas alone, and she might as well begin to accept that now.

When her classes finally ended, Christine was more than grateful to escape the confines of a lecture hall. She had rehearsal soon, and she immensely looked forward to the time dedicated to music and singing. She hadn't done so yet today, and despite the fact that she had sung yesterday, she found that it was much too long. She mused that it must be Erik's doing: after all, he was the one that said melodies flow through her veins like lifeblood. She wondered if he was the same way, coming to the conclusion that he most definitely was. During her weeks staying at his home, she heard him endlessly composing through the night, when he thought she couldn't hear. She could almost hear it now, the tides of piano and violin streaming through the walls, if only…

If only it wasn't so quiet now.

She was right outside the doors to the rehearsal hall, and all she could hear was… well, nothing. Normally, she would hear her fellow choristers happily chatting away, spilling the latest news on their romances, their weekend plans, anything that nearly graduated students would care about. But now, it was so quiet that she almost wondered if she had her schedule wrong. Though she had been away for a while, she remembered clearly that it was Mondays at this time. Putting on a brave face, she pushed open the door, hoping that she wouldn't embarrass herself with what was on the other side.

She immediately realized why it was so quiet. All of her classmates were setting their bags down and pulling out their folders, as per usual, but it was all done with a silence and professionalism she had never seen before. Dr. Reyer was standing at the conductor's podium, stiff as a board… and for good reason. Directly behind him, doing a very good job at looking intimidating as hell, was none other than Dr. Carriere.

Of course, despite her very intimate relationship with Erik, she realized that the other staff and students must be absolutely terrified of him. It was very clear to see why, with his frame, his posture… and those eyes. She has come to love those honeyed eyes, but she remembered that icy stare from their early days of lessons. And she recalled just how unnerving it was. Not wanting to be the odd one out, she also did her best to look oh-so-meek-and-afraid, pulling out her folder and silently taking her position on the riser. Class began not too long after, precisely on time.

"Students, I think you know very well that today, we are graced with an impromptu visitor." Dr. Reyer's voice, normally so casual and relaxed, was uncharacteristically serious. "Our headmaster has expressed the interest of sitting in on rehearsal today, and will be giving input on the auditions for the Ralph Vaughan Williams solos. Now, we shall begin with warm-ups."

Warm-ups were the same affair as it always was, though Christine noted the complete lack of anything interesting. The amusing exercises Dr. Reyer would throw in to ease up the monotony were replaced with scales, scales, and more scales, not to mention he kept going up and up until the altos had given up long ago and the sopranos dying. Of course, given lessons with Erik, Christine was used to it, but it still didn't help that she was hoping singing today would be a therapeutic experience. Apparently not.

In between exercises and during water breaks, Christine could hear the nervous whispers of her classmates, punctuated by the occasional "holy shit" and "I thought he was a ghost". She did not indulge them, simply taking the few moments to try to make eye contact with Erik as she sipped her water bottle. More than once, she was successful, noticing a glimmer in his eye that only she would catch. _The smug idiot is enjoying himself_ , she thought with feigned annoyance.

Though hindered by Erik's terrifying watch, the class could pretend that today was just a normal rehearsal… That is, until the auditions. Dr. Reyer arbitrarily decided that the baritones would be the first to the chopping block, perhaps because the men looked like they would faint even more than the women. Best to get them over with. As they went down the line, everyone including Christine watched the headmaster for reactions, though the mask did not reveal much. Only Christine was accustomed to reading him, noticing him grimace after a baritone's rather unusual choice of vibrato. After they all had sung, Dr. Reyer too looked to Erik, who had remained silent through the entirety. Even while being silently encouraged to speak, he was a man of few words.

"I reserve my judgement until I hear the sopranos."

Not knowing what to make of this, Dr. Reyer simply released a nervous chuckle before looking to the soprano section, starting with a girl to Christine's left. Christine had spoken to her often, and she really was very sweet, but a soloist's voice she did not have. Despite her prestigious education, her career would not lie in performance. She would probably make a very good professor. The next to audition was the girl directly beside Christine, who was widely regarded as the best soprano in the choir. The alpha-female, Christine had tried to make friendly conversation with her several times, but it seemed that "kind" was not in this girl's vocabulary. Still, it was quite amusing for Christine to notice that, as confident as she was, there was a waver in her voice because of Erik's presence. Through, she admittedly did a beautiful job, and because of her status, she was the most likely candidate for this solo.

"Miss Daae?"

Dr. Reyer had a funny tendency to call them formally for auditions, a quirk of his that was equal parts quirky and entertaining. Hearing her name was enough for Christine to shake herself out of her silent thought, turning her attention towards Dr. Reyer at the piano. She glanced at Erik, who straightened slightly, before realizing that Dr. Reyer had continued to speak.

"Are you ready?"

She then fully realized that it was now her turn to sing. Though, unlike her classmates, Erik's presence in the rehearsal hall was not a hindrance. In any other situation like this, Christine would have been absolutely terrified. She would have felt alone and afraid, singing through anxiety she could barely control… but not now. Somehow, seeing him allowed her to pretend that she was somewhere else. In Erik's warm apartment, by the piano, with a cup of tea. He made her feel safe.

No one but him could possibly understand, and miraculously, there he was. Though, she was careful to keep up appearances, knowing that if she looked too relaxed, people would suspect something. Putting on a slight expression of anxiety, one she was quite good at, she nodded to Dr. Reyer.

Her starting note was played, and once she was left to her own devices, she became increasingly aware that her classmates were looking to her in anticipation. None of them had ever heard her sing by herself, she realized now. Her heart skipped a beat, and though it was only a few moments before she took her first breath, it felt like an eternity. Focus on Erik, she reminded herself. It's only you and him. Breathe.

Breathe she did. And then, she sang.

Exactly like the gala night, an audible gasp rang throughout the room underneath Christine's angelic soprano. Dr. Reyer actually leaned on the piano for leverage, his entire face draining of color as he refused to believe what he was listening to. Christine's voice was not yet very special in terms of technique, but even so, it was breathtakingly beautiful. Although no one else in the room could explain it, Erik knew exactly what he had taught his pupil. Her natural pitch was so pure and resonant, and with a few key adjustments, he had morphed it into something not unlike his own. Of course, his voice was much more developed, more practiced, but her own held the same propensity to pull people into its orbit. And she had not even realized it, poor girl. Everyone was so absorbed in that voice, and she absorbed in him, that no one had any idea. He was determined now: under his guidance, she would astonish the world.

-0-

 **Author's Note:**

 **If you would like to listen to the solo Christine is performing, listen to 'Ralph Vaughn William's Dona Nobis Pacem' on Youtube. It's the first one that comes up.**

 **It's a gorgeous piece, and the soloist is quite good too! She isn't exactly what I envision Christine's voice to sound like, though. If you guys would like me to post an author's note-like piece describing with examples and recordings what I think Christine's voice is like, please tell me! I would like to put that together. Also, if you were interested in listening to Rigoletto, the opera she is going to start rehearsing in later chapters, I highly recommend the Sutherland/Pavarotti recording. All right, thanks for reading, and please review!  
**


	41. Chapter 41

Though no one would admit it, Christine's solo was over before any of them wanted it to be. Even the girl who went before her, the mean one, huffed in defeat, knowing that she had just lost the solo to a first year. She was determined to terrorize Christine about that later, but no matter, there wasn't time for that now. Now, Christine ended on a soft, yet impressive note, leaving the room to their shocked silence. It lingered for a few moments, just enough for Dr. Reyer to catch his breath, before he spoke.

"My God," was all he could say for another few seconds, giving Christine ample time to bask in the closest thing he had come to a compliment during auditions. "Well, moving on. Miss Prue…"

The girl directly to Christine's right was the next, and final, student to audition. Admittedly, Christine felt quite bad that she had to audition after her, but immediately reprimanded herself for losing her humbleness. She never knew, after all: she could wake up one day and cease to be as good as people claim her to be. As she thought to herself, the final audition swept over her ears, though it was nothing particularly impressive. It was only then, once everyone was done, when Dr. Reyer looked to Dr. Carriere for judgement.

Despite internally beaming with pride from his pupil's performance, Erik knew that he had to remain impartial and unbiased. A number of colleagues from the gala knew that he was tutoring Christine, but the news remained in small conversational circles inebriated with alcohol and nothing more. He considered when he should reveal to the world that he was the mastermind behind her voice, but now was not that time. And so, he remained a man of few words.

"Dr. Reyer," Erik's deep baritone swept through the room with a subtle beauty. "I think it is very clear what your decision should be."

Obviously, this commentary was much more intimidating than simply telling Dr. Reyer what he should do. He would be the one to decide, in the end, but if his choice did not meet the expectations of the headmaster, there would be consequences.

"Ah, well…" Dr. Reyer huffed a little and straightened his shirt, looking for something to fiddle with in his nervous energy. "Thank you, class, for your work today. Solo decisions will be emailed to you tonight. You are dismissed."

With that, Erik was the first to leave the rehearsal hall, his movement so quick and quiet that students questioned if he just simply vanished. Once he was gone, the room exploded with conversation, students letting out relieved sighs and turning to their neighbors to chat as they gathered their things. Christine attempted to do the same as Erik, quietly slip out before anyone noticed her, but that was impossible. She was almost immediately stopped.

"Christine!" She heard her name called by a male voice, turning around to find a baritone beaming back at her. His name was Anderson if she remembered, and he was the best during the audition. "That was amazing!"

"Oh, thanks," she replied bashfully, feeling her cheeks turn a shade of pink. She is completely unaccustomed to receiving compliments, something Erik has told her she needs to practice. "You were wonderful as well, you know."

"Thank you." His voice sounded genuine, as if he had never received a higher compliment in his life. Christine silently wondered if that was how it was done. Suddenly, he leaned down, whispering lowly in her ear when no one was watching, "Just between the two of us, I am overjoyed that we have someone now to go against Olivia for solos. She's good, but it doesn't make up for the fact that she's a huge bitch."

Christine's eyes widened at his audacity, and she had no idea how to respond. While she often thought horrible things about people in her head, she never had the courage to say any of it out loud. She had a reputation for being sweet and agreeable, unlike most singers, who used every opportunity to show off their fiery, dramatic personalities. She wondered absentmindedly whether this was why Erik liked her, completely forgetting that she was mid-conversation with someone else. She then wondered if this was why she also had a reputation of having her head in the clouds. He simply straightened, looking down at her with a mischievous smile, before grabbing his bag and cooly bidding her goodbye. She returned the gesture, watching him leave the rehearsal hall with all the casualness in the world. _Wow, these people are cutthroat,_ Christine thought to herself nervously.

After a few short conversations with a few other students, who mostly congratulated her on her voice, she was grateful to get some air. Winter was upon Paris, and while it was frigid out, Christine knew it would only get worse. It was going to be a cold winter this year, and she would be lucky to spend any time outside at all in the coming months. She had to be careful now: she always fell ill during this time of year, but this time she couldn't afford to. Just when she decided to retreat to her dorm for warmth, her phone buzzed in her pocket. Upon checking it, the glowing screen illuminated with Erik's name.

"I would like to see you in my office."

Classic Erik. No frills, no complicated pleasantries. He would like to see her, and she didn't have to be told twice.

No more than ten minutes later, Erik heard her signature knock at his door. She was anxious to be out of the cold, and he was delighted that she came so quickly. His deep, smooth baritone greeted her with permission to be let in, and a few moments later, his peripheral vision was met with glints of gold. His eyes were locked to his laptop, finishing typing a sentence before he looked up to greet her.

"You were beautiful."

He really had no idea what possessed him to say that, but the words didn't need permission: they simply fell out of his mouth. Christine knew, of course, that he was referring to her audition, and her eyes widened a little in surprise at the sentiment. Under his tutelage, compliments on her voice were few and far between. If she remembered correctly, the last one she had received was her gala performance. Mamma was still alive, then.

"Thank you," she replied simply, though it was clear to Erik that his words meant much to her. He reminded himself to compliment her more often before he continued speaking.

"How was your day, Christine?"

"Not as bad as I thought it was going to be," she replied optimistically, taking a seat on the sofa and unwinding her scarf from her neck. "It's so cold, though… And I miss her."

That small confession was almost enough to break Erik's already fragile heart. He wished he could make it better for her, but to his dismay, there was not much else to be done. Though, he also realized that Christine would not talk so openly about her grief if she did not trust him deeply, and it made him feel a little better.

"I know you do." Erik's tone was nothing but sincere, and he chose his words carefully. "Are you all right to stay here tonight?"

She realized then that she would be spending the night in her dorm, and presumably all the nights after that as well. A pang of pain hit her heart, then: she wasn't ready to be alone yet, and she knew it. Of course, she would have Meg, but in reality she wanted nothing more than to return to the warmth and comfort of his home. It was safe there, and the grief bit just a bit gentler when he was around. She had gotten used to the feeling of the bed in the guest bedroom, the smell of cooking breakfast when she woke up, watching him sip his coffee while he asked how she slept… but she knew she would never ask for it back. She had already stayed there for so long, and she felt horrible for thinking so selfishly. He probably missed having his home to himself, and he was most likely relieved to not have to take care of her. And so, she put on a little smile.

"I'll be fine," she replied, too quietly.

Erik, though a genius in almost every aspect, was often as observant as a brick wall when it came to other people. He did not see the very obvious lie etched into her voice, into the expression on her face, and it bothered him. He would never admit it to her, but this was not the answer he had wanted. In reality, he wanted desperately to take her home that night, to make tea and watch TV in front of the fire on a cold winter night. Even a few months ago, he would have deemed such behavior "idiotic romanticism," but that is irrelevant. Call it what you will, it was what he wanted now, more than anything else. He realized how sad it would be, after her stay, to come home to an empty house.

"Well, please tell me if you need anything," was his only comment on the matter. Desperate to change the subject, especially after the awkward, silent pause that followed his words, he continued. "Your voice is still warm, yes? You need a lesson."

The time spent in their music was a very welcome escape for both of them. Christine did not want to be alone, nor did Erik want to leave her, but each was too hesitant to voice their feelings to the other. Instead of facing reality, however, they were all too happy to ignore their hearts and turn their focus towards the lesson. It was a difficult one, Erik made sure, as the distraction was perfect to block out the feelings he had no experience with dealing with. They were at the piano for longer than usual, despite running usually long in the first place, and it was only when it was beginning to get dark that Erik suggested Christine go home. She considered refusing, right there and then, turning to him and asking him to take her home, but she simply couldn't muster the courage. Instead, she gathered her things, feigning a pleasant "goodnight" to Erik before taking her leave.

It was only when each was alone, Christine walking to her dorm and Erik gathering his things, that they each let out a sigh. It was such a foreign feeling, being alone. The loneliness now gnawing at his tired, confused heart, Erik wondered how he had spent the previous three decades with only himself for company. Even when she wasn't there, she saw her, heard her laugh, and it threatened to drive him mad. He barely remembered his drive home, though he realized he must have been going fast for it to have been so short. Ayesha greeted him when he entered, and though her presence was welcome, he heard her little mewl echo in the home that now felt too empty. He scolded himself quickly for his selfish thinking, knowing that Christine leaving was a sign of her healing and growth. Then why did it feel so wrong?


	42. Chapter 42

"Christine!"

She immediately snapped out of her gaze, her startled expression taking in the room as she struggled to remember what she was doing. Even now, she winced at the harshness in Erik's voice, though she knew that she deserved it.

"This is the fourth time I have had to correct you," he reprimanded strictly, making her avoid eye contact as she looked down to her music. Secretly, she was trying to find out where they were. "It is a triplet, Christine, _a triplet!_ This is a simple concept!"

"I know," she murmured back, most of her effort put into _not_ meeting his gaze.

"Then why are you not singing what is written?" He asked sarcastically, his tone biting her more than his words did. He was in a mood today, and for good reason: she was being quite the terrible student. Lazy posture, improper placement, and blatantly getting notes wrong were among her list of offenses that evening, but as hard as she tried to keep up, everything hurt. It was all piling on top of her, everything was closing in, she couldn't breathe-

"I'm sorry," she choked out, trying to keep the tears clouding her vision from falling. _Don't cry, Christine,_ she scolded herself. _This is not anything to cry over._ She was able to keep herself together for a bit longer, though, and Erik continued.

"Again, Christine."

If she was being honest with herself, she didn't know how much more she could take. Her return to school was weeks ago, and though she had made progress at Erik's apartment, everything seemed to be slipping through her fingers like quicksand. Final exams were quickly approaching, and the time she was not in rehearsal or lessons was spent hunched over theory textbooks into the early hours of the morning. This was a blessing in disguise, though, she remembered. The nightmares couldn't come if she wasn't asleep.

It wasn't until she felt a familiar hand in a vice grip around her arm that she, once again, snapped out of herself. She was being pulled towards the sofa in the middle of his office, and his body language left no room for argument. He kept silent, but she knew he was trying desperately to contain his fury. She didn't argue when he pushed her to sit, though she was too exhausted to do so anyway. She hadn't slept in days.

Erik sat in the armchair across from her, and after a deep, cleansing breath, he addressed her icily.

"Now, we are going to sit here until you tell me what is wrong."

She remained silent, though she realized she couldn't keep this from him anymore. He was concerned, he conveyed that now, but she really didn't want to bother him. It was enough she was wasting their lesson time, and besides, he had enough to worry about.

"I'm fine," she whispered in vain, wanting anything else other than to talk about it. Though, Erik was not stupid, and by the burning in his eyes, Christine could tell he was close to his breaking point. And so, he tried a different approach.

"Have you been eating?"

Erik knew that Christine would not admit anything to him, but if asked direct questions, she would not lie. At times, she was sure that he knew her better than she knew herself. In resignation, she shook her head. He set his jaw.

"Sleeping?"

When she once again shook her head, he sighed, his intense eyes gazing at her intently. He knew she wasn't ready to go back yet, he just knew it. He should have listened to himself, he should have insisted that she stay longer, but there was nothing to be done about that now. All he could do was fix it.

In his usual habit of spontaneity, he rose from his armchair, though in a move that thoroughly surprised her, he retrieved her coat from the rack by the door. At first, she assumed that he was sending her home, which she would understand, but after taking her coat he went to fetch his.

"Where are we going?"

"Home," he replied simply, leaving no room for argument in his subtle command. When she was more than willing to do as he wished, he finally realized that she hadn't been wanting to ask. He really did have to talk to Nadir more about the peculiarities of women.

The drive into the city was quiet and quick at this time of night. It was not too late in the evening, but the early sunset made most anxious to return to the warmth and comfort of their homes. Erik was no exception. To break up the monotony of the street, Erik found himself stealing glances to the angel in his passenger seat, who was contemplatively leaning her head against the window, staring out into the dimly-illuminated scape. Even in these moments - deep in thought, looking so lost - she was a marvelous sight to look at. She was blind to how her beauty affected him, and it amused him as much as it frustrated him.

He knew full-well that she thought herself simple: she assumed that, with his genius, there was nothing about her that he did not know. Oh, how wrong she was. He knew her likes and dislikes, her tendencies and her body language - but that was nothing to what was inside her head. That, besides from a few small snippets, was entirely lost to him. Her mind (much like his own, despite how much she refused it was), was a cavernous expanse of ideas and emotions that he had only just begun to explore. The scientist in him longed to dissect her, take her apart and find what made her tick. He mused it must be like a very complicated clock, or perhaps a typewriter: every gear had its place, every bolt had a job. There must be no room for anything trivial inside her head, there was too much that was important. And yet, every machine needed maintenance. Without care, she is breaking down, and quickly.

The apartment was incredibly warm and cozy, more so than Christine remembered from her previous visits. Erik had left the electric fireplace on for the day, knowing how Ayesha appreciated the warmth and enjoyed laying in front of it. The little creature had grown substantially, her coat full and shiny due to Erik's insistence of fresh fish and meat. She looked up to them as they entered, bounding over to Erik with all the energy and excitement of a new kitten, clawing his pant leg impatiently as she wished to be fed. Since Christine's absence, Ayesha had kept Erik company just enough to prevent him from going completely mad, and for that he was grateful.

"If I don't feed her, she will keep bothering me until I do," he said to Christine pleasantly. "Sit down, you know where everything is."

She did as she was told, all too happy to curl up in front of the fire. Behind her came the sound of Erik rustling through the fridge and cabinets, mincing wild-caught salmon for Ayesha's evening meal. The plushness of the sofa was kind to her tired body, and while she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes, she fought to keep awake. It had been days since she actually wanted to sleep, but the familiarity and safety of his home was most welcome. Though he would never admit it, he was beaming internally with the fact that Christine had returned to his home. As much as he tried to explain it, the feeling was indescribable: there was just something missing when she wasn't there.

Once Ayesha was happily eating, Erik returned to the living room, a cup of tea in each hand for the both of them. Upon accepting the gesture, she thanked him, taking a sip of her tea as he settled down next to her. He still maintained a bit of distance, just as hesitant and nervous as he once was, resolving not to move closer until it became clear that she wanted to. Though, that did not mean he was any less determined to care for her.

"Once you drink that, I would like to make you something to eat."

"You don't need to bother," Christine reassured him, of course in vain. "I'm not even that hungry."

"You are eating, and that is final." His tone was stern, but even in her state of exhaustion, she still found energy to joke.

"Yes, Maestro," she cooed, causing Erik to turn pink beneath the mask.

After a little more convincing and reassuring, dinner proved to be a rather uninteresting affair. Christine ate, albeit a little begrudgingly, and to set a good example Erik forced himself to have a few bites while she was watching. It wasn't that Christine didn't want to eat, because she did: her appetite had simply vanished over the course of the past week. Left to her own devices after weeks of being cared for proved to hinder her recovery more than help, and for that she was quite ashamed. How could she expect herself to perform well and excel in her studies if she couldn't even make herself eat? As proven by that night's lesson, it was clear that she couldn't.

Though Erik was quite hesitant initiate it, it was clear that Christine wanted to relax with him in front of the fire, as always. It seemed to be her favorite thing, though he was never quite sure why. He conjectured that, being as slim as he was, that he would not be considerably comfortable, but every time they settled on that sofa, her head nestled unfailingly into the space under his collarbone. Now was no exception. It was obvious that she was nervous as well, perhaps thinking that he would want to be left alone, but eventually her need for comfort outweighed her anxiety. They turned on something to watch, another documentary on the life of some musician that Christine didn't catch the name of. While she tried to pay attention, she was caught between thinking and trying not to fall asleep, a place that left her more exhausted than before.

"Go to sleep, Christine," he ordered softly, noticing that her breathing had settled into a deep rhythm despite her attempt to keep her eyes open.

"No, I'm fine," she reassured him drowsily. She practically felt his questioning look despite the fact that she couldn't see his face, and she added, "This documentary is good."

"Oh, really?" He teased, though trying to prove a point. "So, what year was Monteverdi's _L'Orfeo_ premiered, again?"

"1607," she rattled off aimlessly. _Well, that backfired_ , Erik thought to himself. Really, sometimes Christine was too intelligent to compete with.

"You didn't learn that from the documentary, did you?" He asked frankly, not expecting a truthful answer. Suprised was he when he heard the angel in his lap give a little sigh.

"No, I didn't."

"What is wrong?" He asked tenderly, a hand leaving her waist in order to run its fingers through her hair. The gesture immediately made her relax, loosening her tongue just enough to get the truth out.

"I can't sleep," she admitted simply, though her expression would lead him to believe that this was the most deep and intimate of confessions. Despite his level of social ineptitude, he knew there was something else there.

"And whyever not?" He pushed. "Young singers need their rest. Especially you, the concert is soon and all eyes will be on you as a soloist-"

"I know," she cut him off, giving an exasperated sigh much like one of his own. The thought almost made him laugh, but he refrained. She was exhausted, and the last thing she wanted to think about was the fact that Dr. Reyer saw it fit to give her the concert solo. She should be happy - elated, even - but now it only felt like another thing in her way. She felt defeated, on all accounts. "You're going to think I'm stupid."

"Never," he reassured her, the fingers in her hair coming down to stroke her cheek. Normally, he wouldn't allow himself this pleasure, but she seemed so afraid and alone… He couldn't help himself. Not that she seemed to mind. She never did. "Please tell me, my dear. I can help."

"I doubt it." This underestimation of his abilities almost had Erik insulted, but he knew better. Before he could say anything, she continued, her voice noticeably softer than before. "I… I dream about her. And… they're not good dreams."

It was then that Erik swore his heart was breaking. He should have known that this was not the end to her grief - in fact, it would be a sadness that carried with her forever. He sympathetic, overly so, but he also became inexplicably angry at their current situation. Not only did his angel have to suffer while she was awake, but now she could no longer sleep? What did she do to deserve this? They should be laughing, celebrating, rehearsing and preparing for what is to come. He has tried to keep the focus away from the obvious, the passage of time that just made his songbird feel more and more alone. It's worked, to some extent. But with all grief, there were good days and bad days. This was one of the bad.

"Christine…" he cooed, "why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I… I didn't want you to think I was using you." The tone of her voice suggested innate shame. "You don't exist to take care of me, Erik. You're so much more than that to me, and I should be able to take care of myself."

"You are not using me," he replied simply, his voice firm. "I want to help you, and I will continue to do so for as long as you need me. You know that."

"I do know that," she sighed, her head leaning more heavily on Erik in resignation. It felt nice, even though he wasn't terribly warm. The fire remedied that. Hesitantly, she continued. "I just didn't want to assume… but… could I ask you for something?"

"Anything."

"Could we… sleep together again? God, that sounds weird," she scolded herself, trying to keep from laughing. "I just don't want to be alone."

Erik's entire body went rigid, then. Not of disapproval or disgust, no, rather the opposite. Of surprise. He was becoming increasingly aware of her feelings towards him, but he never understood the magnitude of her attachment until she uttered those words. So soft, yet so sincere and desperate.

"Is… Is that really what you want?" He asked softly, still quite unable to believe it.

"You can say no," she added, her cheeks turning a deep shade of rose. "I know you like your privacy-"

"No." A deep pause settled between the two. "What you want, you shall have."

Christine, while feeling deeply embarrassed for even asking, was incredibly relieved that he had agreed. Either way, she needed to sleep, but curling up next to him simply made her feel so much safer. She knew that, if she were to wake up from a nightmare or anything else, he would be there for her. He always was.

Now, Erik found himself in a very peculiar situation. Christine was changing in the guest bedroom, delighted to have found some pajamas that she left here by accident. He was very carefully closing the front buttons on his silk pajama set, straightening them meticulously as if he were preparing for something like a job interview or admin meeting. Everything had to be perfect this time: it was the least he could do, to make up for the first time they shared a bed together. He didn't remember much, but he could assume with confidence that he must have looked a mess. Not this time.

A little knock on the door warned Erik of Christine's entrance, just long enough for him to straighten his mask before she could see. She was dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, her hair braided, and despite this she still looked like an angel. He couldn't imagine her looking ugly in anything, and for this, he was intensely jealous. Catching his gaze, she sensed his nerves immediately, and while she was apprehensive as well, she couldn't deny that this is what she wanted. She needed it, in fact. She tried to make her presence as casual as possible, inviting herself to sit on the bed as he continued his final preparations. It was only when he joined her on the bed that she mentioned the mask.

"You can take it off," she suggested softly.

"You said you were having bad dreams," he countered. "Seeing _it_ right before bed certainly wouldn't help."

"I like your face." This statement completely shattered Erik's composure, causing him to give a rather undignified snort of laughter. "I do. It's not pretty, I'll give you that… but it's yours. That's what I like about it."

Erik chose not to answer, but this must have not been the wisest of decisions. There were a few moments of tense, awkward silence, during which Erik considered saying something, but didn't. He assumed Christine didn't want to argue, and by the rustling of the covers beside him, he thought she was going to lie down. That was, until the wind was swiftly knocked out of him. He struggled to catch his breath, the impact to his chest almost sending him into a defensive panic. Though, it was probably just from the shock, because what he was hit with was very soft. He concluded quickly that it was a pillow, but pillows don't just fly by themselves. And certainly not with that much force. In fact, said weapon was still grasped firmly in the tiny hands of a very tired, very determined Christine. He met her eyes, and her expression told him everything.

"Did… you just hit me with a pillow?" As a reply, she raised one eyebrow, her reply quite clear. _Yes, and what are you going to do about it?_

He couldn't hold back his laughter. This whole situation was ridiculous, and for a second he thought he was dreaming. A second whack with Christine's weapon of choice told him otherwise. That was it. If you couldn't beat them, join them.

It was when Erik slowly rose to his knees, playful predatory expression in his eyes, that Christine realized that she had made a grave mistake. Almost nonchalantly, he took off the mask, placing it on the night table so it wouldn't get broken. Christine got what she wanted, after all. He had never been in a pillow fight before, but he assumed the rules were quite simple.

"Go easy on me," she begged, nervous laughter filling the air as Erik took up a pillow.

"Never," he bantered. "What kind of teacher would I be if I did?"

Before she could reply, one hit of Erik's pillow was enough to send her sprawled onto the bed. For a moment, he worried that he had hurt her, but she did not seem to be in any pain. In fact, she was giggling like a schoolgirl with a crush (in reality, she was exactly this). In vain, she readied her pillow for a second assault, but she was quickly disarmed despite her efforts. She often forgot how incredibly strong he was. His own pillow was abandoned in favor of his hands, and while he would have shied away from anything like this before, it felt different now. He wanted to trace the joy on her cheeks, share in her playfulness, and most of all, win this game.

But she was trying to escape! Under his watch, she tried to sit up, reaching for her pillow in hope of recovering her victory. It was comically easy for him to push her back down onto the bed, and in doing so, he leaned over her predatorily. As Christine gazed at the hand poised above her ribs, her eyes widened.

"Don't you dare!" She shrieked, but it was too late. Erik's expert fingers quickly found the spot that burst her squirming body into another fit of laughter, so much so that she could hardly breathe. She was extremely ticklish, and while she hoped he hadn't found out, there was nothing she could hide from him. She fought and squealed, actually managing to land a soft kick to his ribs before one of his knees pinned her legs down. This was so unlike them, but it felt so right. He had stopped thinking, so high on their collective joy that their closeness was fully welcome. Innocently lighthearted, yet so intimate in all the best ways. Despite the fact that she was already exhausted and her couldn't get a breath in, she wished this would last forever.

"Okay, stop!" She breathed, more a surrender than a warning. "You win! You win!"

"Oh, what's the matter?" Erik paused for a second, testingly prodding her on her side. "My Christine bit off more than she could chew?"

"Yes!" She readily agreed. "Yes, you win! Just stop!"

"I win?" He teased, a triumphant smirk pulling on his lips. "Then tell me, dear loser: what is my prize?"

"What do you want it to be?" Her boldness shook Erik to the core, and he wondered what she could mean. After going over the possibilities in his head, agonizing over his decision, he realized there was only one thing he wanted. Was he allowed to ask? Did he dare?

"A kiss?" With his request, the entire mood between them changed. His voice was barely a whisper, so unexpected that Christine had to nearly choke back a sob. It was obvious how starved he was for intimacy, how terrified he was of her refusal. He wondered if he had asked for too much, if he should have just appreciated what he had been given instead of being selfish. To his absolute shock, she didn't hesitate to gently tug at the collar of his nightshirt, intending on fulfilling his wish right then and there. His sweet angel, did she care for him that much? He returned to reality, soon enough to cause him to realize what he was missing.

"My mask," he breathed, wide-eyed and pale. He couldn't let her endure this, not when he wasn't decent. "Christine-"

He was cut off by the feeling of her fingers combing through his hair, pulling his face close enough to place a short, sweet kiss on his forehead. It was followed by one of the same nature applied to his lips, so sincere and beautiful that he swallowed a cry. She had kissed his face, his bare face! He didn't know what to do. She shouldn't have done that, no one had ever tried. He assumed that no one would ever want to put themselves through something as horrible as that. But, if it was horrible, there was no trace of it on her lovely features. In fact, if he was anyone else, he would have assumed that she enjoyed it. Did she really care for him so much? Would there ever be the possibility of another? Was-

"Erik," she called him pleasantly, her voice sounding so far away. "I would appreciate if you took your knee off of my legs."

He immediately did as he was told, murmuring an apology, but she didn't seem to be upset. Instead of getting up to leave, like he assumed she wanted, she used her newfound freedom to nestle into the covers of his bed. Now that he thought about it, she looked exhausted, and the only thing they were doing now was stalling her falling asleep. Even her eyes looked drowsy, a far cry from the excited expression they dawned just a few moments ago. They had their fun, now it was time to settle in. No matter how much he hated doing so, now was the time to be responsible and let her rest. No matter: she was beautiful even when she was asleep.

"Could I ask you for something else?" She added, watching him slowly unfurl from the position he was frozen in on the other side of the bed.

"Anything," his voice sounded back. If she wanted the whole earth at that moment, he would have found some way to give it to her.

"Would you come and sing for me?" The tone of her voice came off as a bit desperate, but Erik found it particularly endearing. More than anything, it was nice to know how much he was wanted. "If you don't want to, that's fine, but I never seem to have bad dreams when you do."

"I would love nothing else." The phrase rolled off his tongue before he could stop it, and he was quite embarrassed now that she knew how desperate he was as well. He was still sitting near the foot of the bed, as if he would be scolded if he moved closer. It was interesting how his moods could switch so suddenly: in the midst of their excitement, he could forget about who he was, about his face. Now that things were calming down, the only thing running through his mind was that he was without the mask. He should put it on, he should put it on, he couldn't lay down next to her like this! It always ruined everything. But then, upon further thought, he never slept with it on. Though, he always slept alone. His instincts won out, he reached for the mask, but he was intercepted. By a very small, warm hand.

"Please leave it off." There was a very odd quality to her voice then. If this were any different, he could have sworn that she had asked for something as simple as turning the light off before he laid down. So sure, and yet so subtle, that without even thinking, he heeded her request. Slowly, with hesitation, he laid down next to her, his face bare for her to look at with those lovely eyes.

As she moved closer to him, her head finding its favorite place in the hollow of his neck, he granted her first request: he sang. It was a lullaby he was tinkering with, and while he had not gotten it quite right yet, it would do for now. The melody was simple and quiet, which was optimal considering that he was lying down. As she settled deeper into the nooks of his body, as if there was nothing more natural, he allowed himself to become comfortable, feeling that for once, he was truly home.


	43. Chapter 43

"Can I ask you a question?"

Her voice cut gently through the blissful silence, bringing him back to the present during the beginning of an early morning. They were laying together in bed, limbs tangled in limbs, and though they realized that they would probably be late to campus, neither was motivated enough to move. Beneath the sheets it was warm and comfortable and safe, and Erik would not give up this peace for the world. That is, until he heard her voice.

"Anything, my dear." His voice was growly from a full night of disuse, and Christine decided immediately that she loved it that way.

"What are you doing for Christmas?"

Though the question did not assault him with unpleasant memories, it was a bit of a shock to think of a holiday which held significance to everyone but him. He had never been religious, and as a result he did not find the need to decorate his home and buy gifts for friends he didn't have in the first place. There were the few occasions that he was invited by a colleague to spend a holiday dinner at their home, though these were mostly business-oriented with the goal of investments and partnerships. The thought reminded him that he had one such event approaching, though it was not on the eve or the holiday itself. Even on the few occasions that Nadir had dragged him to his flat for the occasion, he did not think it was anything special. Nadir's Christmas involved far too much wine, in his opinion. Perhaps, though… Perhaps Christine could make it special.

"Nothing of significance," he finally responded, noncommittally. "Why do you ask?"

Christine bit her bottom lip in thought, though he couldn't see from where he was lying. She mulled over the question burning on those lips, the plea bursting from her eyes that she shouldn't spend the holiday alone. She was acting like a child, in her opinion. When had Erik ever been the person to be afraid of asking things? If his answer was no, then it would be no. But she had to grow up and ask, or she would never know.

"I was wondering…" She trailed off, taking another moment to find her courage. "I was wondering if you would like to spend it with me."

Though he assumed it was coming, the question still didn't fail to take him by surprise. He knew by now that Christine had always spent the holiday with her grandmother, but now that she had passed, he had assumed that she found plans with someone else. Her roommate - what was her name, Meg? - was a very nice girl, and though her mother was rather formidable, they would have made wonderful Christmas companions for her. Why did she choose him, of all people? From the nervousness in her voice, he was the first person she had asked. Was he really her first choice? Him, of all people? He was honored, yet terrified at the same time. He had never celebrated Christmas before.

"Christmas?" His voice betrayed his surprise.

"Yes."

"With you?"

"... Yes." She was becoming more afraid of his refusal by the second. "If you have other plans, don't let me keep you -"

"Christine, even if I had dinner with an emperor, I would cancel them." His tone did not leave any room for argument. "I would be honored to spend Christmas with you."

At this response, she beamed, lifting her head from his chest and pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. He had neglected shaving the day before, and as a result his five o'clock shadow was much rougher and itchier than usual. She didn't mind, though. She would tell him to ditch it today as well, if it kept him in the warm sheets for a few more minutes.

"We have to get up eventually, my dear." This time, it was his voice that broke their comfortable silence, and her groan that followed.

"No," was her reply, its simplicity evidence enough that was comfortable where she was.

"Oh?" He questioned. "In that case, perhaps we could revisit the events of last night?" To prove her suspicions, his hand wandered to her waist, fingers laid over her stomach, poised to strike. Just the thought made her giggle nervously.

"Don't you dare," she warned, though she proved hopelessly unthreatening.

One brush of his fingers was enough to have her leaping from the bed, a squeal escaping her lips as she did so. As she stumbled over her sleepy feet, her eyes narrowed on him as if to critique his unique methods for extracting her from the bed.

"You're cruel," she whined, and the tone of her voice made him laugh.

"Cruel, yet effective," he retorted, stretching out on the bed before sitting up. "Go get dressed, or we'll both be late."

-0-

The final descent of finals week had every last student at the Institute frazzled, and Christine was no exception. The lectures provided no useful information aside from what she already knew, and she almost considered skipping them altogether. She was up to her eyes in homework and study material, and while she loved Meg to death, she had hoped that she would not have friends over during such a crucial point in the semester. After scouting the library attentively for a seat for almost ten minutes, she found one, tucked away in a little corner where she was sure not to be disturbed. Armed with textbooks, her laptop, and a full thermos of hot tea, she set to work.

By the time she lifted her head again, it was late into the afternoon. Checking her phone, she remembered her standing appointment with Erik for her lessons, and decided to finish up. Despite expecting to feel exhausted, she instead felt strangely restless, and she deeply looked forward to the couple hours of singing that was in her future. It was her constant, her reward after a day of work, and most of all, she couldn't wait to see him again. And, this was the main reason that she was overwhelmingly disappointed to see that he wasn't alone.

Before knocking on the door, it was not one voice that she heard behind it, it was two. She recognized Erik, of course, and while the second voice was vaguely familiar, she struggled to remember who it was. Once she knocked, though, both voices went silent for a moment before Erik's rang out again.

"Ah, here she is now. Come in."

So they were expecting her, she conjectured. Upon entering, she realized that her original appraisal of the situation was slightly wrong: there were not two men in the room, there were three. Erik was sitting at his desk, looking professionally formidable as always, and settled on one of the leather sofas was none other than Dr. Greene, the artistic director for Rigoletto. Sitting tensely beside him was a man she did not recognize, and while he looked about the same age as Dr. Greene, he seemed nowhere near as pleasant. A scowl set off his rather insignificant features, but the pure tangibility of his ego gave away his importance. Best to make a good impression, Christine told herself.

She was just about to extend her hand and introduce herself, hoping that a cheery attitude would help wipe the grimace on his face, but she was cut off before she got the chance. The unknown man turned to Dr. Greene (who appeared to be sweating) and if it were possible, his demeanor became even worse once he spoke.

" _This_ is who you cast as Gilda?"

Christine was equal parts shocked and insulted, but she tried very hard not to let it show. She knew that becoming a professional in the performing arts business would prove much easier with a thick skin, but she was never known for having one. It was Dr. Greene who saved her from the awkward silence, in the end, turning to her with a benevolent expression despite the circumstances.

"Miss Daae," he introduced her, though it seemed she did not require one. "This is Robert Chaumont, the musical director for the Paris National Opera."

 _That was a wonderful introduction,_ she replied sarcastically in her head. _Now would you tell me why you are here?_ She didn't have to wait long.

" _Doctor_ Robert Chaumont," the man corrected icily. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Erik's jaw clenching beneath the mask. He had remained eerily silent throughout this interaction, but she wondered how much more he was able to take. "Normally I stay out of casting decisions, despite the fact that I have a vote, as stated in my contract. But once I saw a name in a leading role which I did not recognize, then endured the shock of finding it was a conservatory student, I brought it up as a mistake. I _still_ think it is a mistake-"

"It was not a mistake." From personal experience, Christine knew that Erik was struggling to keep his voice above a growl. "Keep in mind that she is already bound by contract, and if you choose to terminate that contract, you will be met with action from her lawyer."

Swift and sharp, in usual Erik fashion. At the same time, Christine didn't even know she had a lawyer, but that didn't matter now. Erik continued. "But, by all means, allow her to prove herself to you. That is why you are here, isn't it?"

By the incredulous expression on Dr. Chaumont's face, it was clear that he was not used to having his authority challenged. Truth be told, the artistic director before Dr. Greene was completely at his beck and call, intimidated into making decisions solely based on the preferences of the frankly terrifying musical director. Of course, he did have some say in decisions such as casting, but now that his reign of terror was over, it was clear he had resorted to becoming a large nuisance to get what he wanted. And it seemed, not to his own fault, that Dr. Greene was almost going to bend to his will. Poor man.

Chaumont gave a gruff answer in the affirmative, swiftly standing from the sofa and approaching the piano with a quick look to Christine, who was still frozen to the spot. In actuality, she had no idea what to do, but a glance from Erik gave her very clear instruction: follow him to the piano. In that moment, all she wanted to do was just sing for Erik, just the two of them, but it seemed that there was no other choice. She sang, or she humiliated both herself and Erik. As she set her things down and approached the piano, Dr. Greene approached Erik, who clearly was not in the mood.

"I'm sorry about this," he mollified, though this meager attempt at appeasement made Erik's jaw clench even harder. Though he was angry, he was not worried in the slightest. Even if Christine was not that confident in her abilities, he was.

Chaumont sat at the bench in a self-dignified sort of way, putting a score that he apparently had brought with him onto the stand.

"I assume you need to be warmed up?" He sounded more exasperated by it then anything else, as if vocal warmups were arbitrary and unnecessary.

"Yes, sir," she replied in a professional sort of way, causing him to scoff.

"So she speaks! Well, then, let's see if you can sing."

She had gotten used to the intensely critical stare of her own teacher, but this was an entirely different feeling. Erik had never asked her to prove herself like this, and in fact, she could see that he found this situation laughable. All he had ever wanted was her attention, dedication, and passion; at this moment, she missed that. She was so very tempted to run out the door and not look back, but one glance at Erik stopped her. He could tell she was panicking, that the anxiety bubbling inside her was set to implode, but he didn't allow that to happen. His gaze was stern and structured enough to keep her rooted to the spot, confident with the knowledge that once she began to sing, she would be fine. He knew his pupil well. The invader at his piano pressed down a scale, and after a breath, she began to sing.

She was a bit tense at first, understandably, her voice hesitant with the pressure and the day without use. At first, Chaumont gave a wicked, triumphant sort of smile, as if to tell himself that he was right, that this girl couldn't sing at all! After this scale, he would stop her, not hesitating to humiliate Dr. Greene into terminating her contract. What surprised him, though, was that the nerves did not last. A few reassuring glances from her teacher and some warming up were all she needed to shed her mediocrity, and to his shock, she was improving. Her clarity of tone remained consistent throughout the entirety of her range, and even in warmups, he could tell her agility was still developing, yet already very good. Would he have to admit that he was wrong? Not yet, perhaps. A technically good voice, a beautiful voice does not always make.

"You know Gilda's first aria?" He demanded, though Erik noticed he was not as confidently assanine as before. He was breaking.

"Of course," Erik and Christine replied together.

Pages were flipped, introductions played, and Chrisitne sang once more. And, to Chaumont's absolute dismay, it was gorgeous. He had heard Gilda sang more times than he could count, always by someone much older and more experienced than the student in front of him, but never as beautiful. Never as beautiful as this, he lamented. Her voice was so young and full of light, with that touch of inexperience that he should have found annoying, but he couldn't shake its charm. It was practically alluring, and he hated it. He hated that he liked it. He was completely drawn in, so much so that he stopped playing just so he could listen. As she continued, Erik gave a triumphant smirk of his own, knowing his songbird would never fail him.

"What else do you know?" Chaumont asked begrudgingly once she had finished. He was putting all of his effort into not giving away that he was impressed, but it was too late. His fate was sealed with that question.

Erik rattled off suggestions from her repetoire, confirming that he was the one who taught her. Chaumont chose quite a few, under the guise of 'evaluating her versatility', but by this point, Christine was more than happy to sing for him. She was no longer worried for her position, and now her main motivator was the proud look on Erik's face. Her excellence thoroughly satisfied him, to the point of giddiness, though he would never let it show with anyone else in the room. After the fourth extra piece she sang, Chaumont finally stood from the piano in defeat, announcing he was satisfied.

"We will send you our decision at the earliest convenience," he explained plainly, obviously not expecting to be argued with. However, Erik had another trick up his sleeve.

"That will not be necessary. I am terminating her contract."


	44. Chapter 44

"That will not be necessary. I am terminating her contract."

Chaumont stopped in his tracks, and he wasn't the only one.

"You're going to do what?" Both he and Christine breathed at the same time. After spending nearly two hours proving herself to this buffoon of a musical director, she was in complete shock at the potential loss of opportunity. Why would Erik do this to her? She received a very stern look from him for her interference, and she fell silent.

"Well, from what I had just witnessed, you do not appreciate Miss Daae's effort or talent," Erik replied smugly. "I have other offers for productions which would be delighted to have her, and I intend on contacting one of them _once you leave_."

Christine had no idea that she had received other offers. In fact, she was slowly finding out that there was a lot that she didn't know, and despite trying not to be bothered, she was. Was there a reason he wasn't telling her of these things, and if so, what was it? Once they were alone, she would ask; but for now, the inside of her head was not a very nice place to be. Over the thoughts in her head, she listened to the continuing exchange.

"What other offers?" Chaumont inquired, taking the words straight from Christine's mind. "Who else wants her?"

"Ah, so you admit it, then!" Erik countered coyly. "Go on, admit her talent, her desirability. Tell me what I already know."

Despite Erik's rather fierce protection of her, Christine felt much like a mannequin. She was a commodity, to be looked at and bought and sold, but with no voice of her own. Or, at least she felt like that. She really didn't know what was happening. Though, she had to admit the nearly catatonic expression on Chaumont's face was pretty priceless, and Erik was amazingly good at playing hardball. After a moment of thought, Chaumont spoke, but much softer than before.

"Her voice… is…" He looked almost pained. "It's like nothing I have ever heard before. At her age, her level of potential is almost inconceivable."

Christine almost had the mind to say thank you, but the words stuck in her mouth. This was a battle of wills, and despite her intelligence, she knew that she wasn't fit to fight. Erik, though… Erik was a master soldier, and he was having a wonderful time.

"So, does that mean that you were…?" Erik goaded, knowing full well that he had the upper hand. He held the ace - a very talented and adorable ace, but an ace nonetheless. With that contract, Christine's entire career was under his jurisdiction, and the power felt amazing. Even better than owning an entire institution.

"I was wrong." Chaumont was finally defeated, and while he had never uttered those words in his entire life, he did now. Erik had to fight off the urge to grin, because that would be truly terrifying indeed.

"You will be informed of our decision within the next week," Erik replied coldly. "According to the contract, I have the _sole_ right to terminate at any time before the last dress rehearsal. Please close the door on your way out."

Shocked, insulted, and now afraid for the future of their production, both Dr. Chaumont and Dr. Greene scurried out of the office with their tails between their legs. They were determined to make a few phone calls, but the real possibility of finding a quality replacement for Christine was slim to none. Once the door closed with a soft _click_ , Erik leaned against his desk, tired but otherwise looking particularly smug and pleased.

"Erik?" Christine tested her own voice in the room. It felt out of place, even foreign, after what just transpired. She felt uncomfortable. "What just happened?"

"That, Christine," Erik began, his voice deep and smart and everything that hers was not, "Was negotiation. Nothing to worry yourself over."

"He left pretty shaken up," she commented, making Erik chuckle at the observation.

"He did, didn't he?" He agreed, making a nonchalant gesture with his hands that served to lower the tension in the room. She felt better, and this felt more like the Erik she knew. Nothing to worry about, he said. She believed him.

"Now, why don't we go home?" He continued, and currently the offer sounded quite enticing. _Home_. With the fireplace and the sofa and his arms. A place where she needn't worry.

"That sounds really nice."

The most comforting thing about Erik's apartment was that nothing really changed. It was always warm - more for the comfort of the kitten and Christine more than the main occupant, though the small details did not matter - and the furniture was always in the same place. There were really no surprises, not here. Considering that the last few months had rendered her life completely unrecognizable from what it was before, this predictability was most welcome. It was safe here, and that was the main reason she continued to come back.

Once they entered, Erik began to set down his things and wander to the kitchen to put on tea, at first not realizing that he was being followed. Ayesha was now even bigger than Christine had last seen her, and it had only been a few days: on Erik's diet of fresh fish and meat had rendered a lovely, shining coat and boundless energy from his little miss. It was Christine who first noticed that she was carrying something in her mouth, something that she seemed very excited about. Before Christine could say anything, the offending object was dropped at Erik's feet, as if she were presenting a gift.

It was a spider. A very large and hairy specimen, all black and brown and obviously mangled but still somehow alive and twitching. Christine's cry of shock was what prompted Erik to look down, just in time to watch Ayesha poke at it with her paw, causing it to write grotesquely. The gesture efficiently conveyed the message, "look, it's still alive so you may have the honor of killing it!" She seemed very pleased with herself, and to Christine's increasing surprise, so did Erik. He scooped her little body in his arms, praising her predatory instincts and even giving her a treat before he noticed that his human company was quite close to fainting.

"Christine, it's only a spider," he chided her gently, though he gestured to a nearby chair in hopes of coaxing her to sit. "Besides, I am quite confident that it is now dead."

Christine took a seat at the chair on the other side of the kitchen island, as far from the spider as she could get.

"It's a b-big spider," she sputtered uselessly, paler than normal. "I hate spiders."

He then realized that the only way to calm her down was to get rid of the thing, and after setting Ayesha down, he retrieved a towel in order to dispose of the spider carcass. He continued to speak as he did so, knowing full well that his voice was sufficient to cut through her anxiety.

"I kept a tarantula as a pet, when I was a child," he told her, not even realizing that this small glimpse into his past was the first knowledge Christine had of his childhood. "His name was Earl, though I am now almost sure that Earl was female."

This was enough to make her laugh, distracting her for long enough that Erik was able to dispose of the spider. He notified her it was gone as he approached the fridge to prepare dinner for Ayesha, who was impatiently waiting to receive the fruits of her efforts. After some knife-work on Erik's behalf, she was presented with a plate of wild-caught salmon, a luxury most adults wouldn't be able to afford.

"Your cat eats better than I do," Christine joked, though it was clear that Erik did not find it overly amusing.

"A healthy and balanced diet is vital to the care of any singer," he reprimanded, reminding her momentarily how strict of a teacher he could be. Knowing now all the other aspects of him, it almost made her laugh. "Still no dairy, soda?"

"No to both," she replied. "And no caffeine, which hasn't been easy. Every time Meg and I meet for coffee, she gets a latte just to spite me. Sometimes I just want to strangle her."

Violent tendencies were not common for his pupil, and the thought made him chuckle. The tea kettle beginning to sing was a welcome distraction to the feelings welling up in his chest, and with his back to her, he opened the tea cabinet.. "Well, we'll have none of that. Though, the presence of those two idiots in my office this afternoon left me unable to teach you, and I would like to give you a lesson. Chamomile?"

She nodded, the smooth command of his tone leaving no room for argument. She reminded herself that she was up to her eyes in material to study for final exams, but that would have to be done later. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew to Erik that her vocation came first.

After Erik handed her a cup of fresh-steeped tea, with lots of honey just as she liked it, they made their way to the piano. Her music stand and what was on it remained untouched from the last time she was there, which was a strangely comforting fact. It was almost as if it was waiting for her to return, affirming that she had a place in this little corner of the world, somewhere she was wanted.

The music was always a constant between them. Just like the tide tracked up and down the shoreline every day, Christine sang her scales, her voice struggling to warm after a day in the Paris winter. Erik talked much less during their lessons now: in the beginning, it seemed all he would do was talk, explaining concepts and correcting her technique until he barely had any breath left. But now, he was a man of few words, simply listening and knowing that, with a little reminding, Christine would fix herself.

" _Christine_ ," her name cut through the scales, clearly intoned, and without another word, she relaxed her shoulders. To a stranger looking in, it would seem like a secret language or telepathy between teacher and student. The reality of it was, though, that he was simply a master of his craft, and his teaching methods left little to the imagination.

Rigoletto was a deceptively difficult opera. To audiences, the complex musical whirlwind of voices and instruments seemed almost simple, and to many, this was why it was so well-loved. The story was easy enough to follow, circled around a popular central theme of love and struggle, and was sprinkled with just a few top C's to be truly dazzling. What they didn't see, though, was that hours upon hours of practice and rehearsal was what made it seem easy. Parts that were incorrect in rehearsal were drilled, corrected, and then drilled again, all so that the proceedings were flawless on opening night. Christine knew this well enough, and yet, she was reaching her wit's end.

"You're flat," Erik corrected, his voice ironically flat as well. She inwardly groaned.

"Where?"

"You know where."

Oh, but the catch was, Christine most definitely did not know where. It was during these times that she missed the beginning days of their lessons, where he would correct her plainly and move on. He now seemed to enjoy playing mind games with her, forcing her to think and holistically critique her own voice. How fun.

"Again." He commanded, playing her starting note and looking to her expectantly.

She did as she was told, but the second time through proved to be just as unsuccessful. After no sign of approval from her teacher, Christine let out a groan, unable to pinpoint what she was doing wrong.

"You are growing frustrated," Erik observed, the obviousness of his statement lending a small smirk to his lips. "But there is no reason to be. Simply sing it correctly, and then we can move forward."

Christine shot him a look, though it was hard to determine if she was actually upset. When she did speak, though, it was riddled with sarcasm, which relieved him of his doubts.

"Oh, thank you, Erik!" She cooed, feigning a swoon. "All my musical issues are solved with your marvelously helpful insight!"

Christine could almost see his eyebrow raise beneath the mask.

"Oh, are they now?" He replied, his voice playful and dangerously low. "Or, will it come to light that I am being sassed?"

She was feeling incredibly cheeky now, and was quite enjoying the slight surprise in his expression from her defiance. "And if you are, what exactly will you do about it?"

"Sing the measure, Miss Daae." He tried to reign back his control, but there was no denying the traces of humor still present in his tone.

"Make me."

Those two words were enough to drive any man mad, including the one currently sitting at the piano bench. He was equal parts stunned and riled up, adrenaline coursing through his veins where there previously was none, beckoning him to make rash decisions. She stood there, staring at him from behind her music stand, as if beckoning him to respond. What was it that she wanted? Did all women behave this way, goading their men until they finally snap? Was he _her_ man? He was so confused, and yet so in his element at the same time. Was she expecting a battle of wills? If so, he was very good at those, and he would most definitely win. But, something inside told him otherwise. He had an idea of exactly what she wanted.

He had no idea what possessed him to stand from the bench, but he was soon standing at his full height. Powerful and regal, yet still graceful and poised, Christine's breath caught short as she watched his approach. Something about him made her stomach tighten. Perhaps it was the fluidity of his stride, his confidence bordering on arrogance... or, perhaps, the smoldering look on his gleaming golden eyes. He had looked at her in many ways before, and yet she didn't think she had seen that one before. It was mere moments before he was directly before her, and she felt one of his fingers hook under her chin, directing her gaze upwards. Her mouth went dry.

He leaned down boldly, more boldly than he had ever dared before, and caught her lips gently with his. It was fairly chaste and gentle, but Christine knew better than to ignore the restrained passion caged in every sinew of Erik's body. As if on instinct, her lips parted just a little to receive him, and as she did so, she felt a firm, steadying hand on her waist. And, before she knew it, he pulled away.

"Sing the phrase, if you please, Miss Daae."

In that moment, she swore that she would never forget the deep richness of his voice. Her breath was shaking, and strangely, her whole body felt as if it were on fire. God, she had never felt this way before. As she searched the chasms of her now-empty mind for a witty reply, her voice stuck in her throat.

"Only because you said please."


	45. Chapter 45

Strangely enough, their lesson proceeded as normal, though each of them were more lost in thought than the other. Christine reviewed the rest of her music, singing with a dream-like, half-focused quality that would normally drive Erik mad. Though, this time, he was much too preoccupied to notice.

It was late into the evening when they finally finished, and as Christine could often say after lessons, she was thoroughly exhausted. They always took a great deal of physical and mental effort, and while the mental effort this particular lesson was more towards analyzing her own personal feelings, it was still tiring nonetheless. Erik dismissed her, his voice softer than it usually was, and she swore that this was the first she heard him speak in a long while. He instructed her to get some rest, his voice gentle and faraway all at the same time. He remained at the piano, though, and Christine could see the buds of inspiration float through his eyes. He was going to begin composing, she knew, and once he started, nothing would move him from that bench until he was done. This was a perfect opportunity to continue her studying, and while she wanted to do literally anything else, it was necessary. Leaving Erik to his work, she went to refill the kettle and put it on the stove, also taking the liberty to switch on the fireplace in preparation for a long night.

When Christine placed a hot cup of tea on the ledge of the piano for Erik, he took a sip off the top without a word, too focused to think of how it got there. She knew that he appreciated it, of course, and he left him to write down the notes that were streaming through his head like ocean waves. Her task was much less fun, though, and much more tedious, and she admitted that she envied him as she unpacked her bag of notebooks and textbooks. Her shoulders and neck already ached from how long she had been poring over the same pages, the same lines, but she was going to have to do it again. It needed to stick, and so far, it wasn't sticking. Music theory and opera history were topics which normally interested and fascinated her, but once it was reduced to memorization and problem solving, she was left disheartened and frustrated and nervous all at the same time. She read and read until her eyes could barely register the words on the pages, took notes until her hand shook, too focused to notice that the piano in the background eventually went quiet. The tea she had poured for herself had gone cold, abandoned during her attempt to focus, and she didn't realize how many hours it had been since she sat down. How many minutes had it been since she flipped a page? How many times had she read this sentence-

"I thought I told you plainly to get some rest," an authoritative, but gently deep voice sounded behind her. She looked up, eyes glassy.

"I can't," she groaned, rubbing her eyes in an attempt to get them to work. "I'm up to my eyes in studying. People say Professor Antoine's finals are brutal, and I can't afford to fail-"

He silenced her with a gesture of his hand, his expression constant and plain. Anyone would think that a man in a mask could hold no expression, but those eyes told everything.

"Stop for tonight," he instructed tenderly. "It's late, and your health matters more."

"That's easy for you to say," Christine retorted jokingly. Or, as humorous as she could get while half-asleep. "You own the place."

He gave a little smirk, but instead of a verbal reply, he simply walked around the side of the sofa and sat down next to her. Before she could say anything, he plucked the notebook off of her lap, to stop her studying and to take a curious peek. In true opposite of normal Christine fashion, her notes were a mess of shorthand, figures, and bizzare references that were most likely only understood by her. He found this very interesting, almost like another language, and he mused that he would love to translate these sometime. For now, though, she needed rest, and that was not going to be achieved by him rifling through her schoolwork.

He set her notebook down, and to her pleasant surprise, gently pulled her close to recline on the sofa. He was rarely this forward, but as he was becoming more comfortable, he was more clear and direct with what he wanted. She settled against his chest, mentally noting that it was not quite was thin and bony as before. Now that she was here, he was eating more than he was used to, and she was glad for it. Before she could get too comfortable, though, she remembered one thing she had to do. Mainly because she knew he would never do it himself.

She sat up slightly, turned towards him, and reached her hand up to his chin. Her fingers slid slowly underneath the mask, and he pulled away, his heart beginning to race.

"Christine," he breathed, grasping her wrist and pulling it a few inches away from his face. He kept it there for a moment, trying to find the motive hidden in her gentle eyes.

"I'm not sleeping until it's off," she countered, her voice sweet and somewhat nagging.

"This is my comfortable one," he assured her, though this was only partly true. It was his comfortable one, but after a long day of wear, it was still sore. She didn't need to know that.

She gave him a look that could see right through him, right through the thinly veiled lies, and he gave up. He slowly released her hand, still partly convinced that she was going to remove the mask, then gag and run away. She was the only one that hadn't in his entire life, save Nadir. Though, just like always, she gently undid the ties hidden in his hair, stripping him of his mask with her soft, warm fingers. And she didn't run.

In fact, she shifted her position a little so she could sit facing him more comfortably, running her thumbs along his hollow cheekbones in a pleasant, slightly reverent manner. He could almost die, just then. She then leaned forward, pressing a kiss in the middle of his eyes, where the beginnings of a nose ridge lay incomplete. He shuddered, then melted, a tear escaping his eye as she settled down on his chest once more. He should have remained silent, taken what he was given with a grateful heart, but he was so curious.

"How do you do it?" He asked, his voice so soft that Christine barely heard him the first time.

"Hmm?" She hummed questioningly, though much too lazy to lift her head from his chest again. "How do you mean?"

"I can't even look at myself," he whispered, ashamed and anxiety-ridden all at once. He wanted to cry, but he kept it in, knowing how much his emotions would affect her. It was already so late, and taking up any more of her time would be cruel. Though, she didn't seem to think so. Now that she knew something was seriously wrong, she found the strength to get up again, despite Erik's protests.

"No, no… I didn't mean-"

"It's okay," she replied softly, wiping the offending escaped tear from his cheek. "It's okay to need someone, Erik. You taught me that."

"I don't need anything," he lied, steeling himself once more. He refused to meet her gaze then, unable to face her when he was so exposed and monstrous. "You deserve someone better. So much better, Christine, and you don't even realize. I don't know how you can stand it."

She took a pause to think, looking deeply into those rich, golden eyes even though he wouldn't return the favor. She tried to think of the perfect words to say, something wonderful to make him feel better, but it wasn't coming. She knew she had to console him somehow, though, and so she did the best she could.

"You snore when you sleep."

At this completely random comment, Erik gave a rather undignified snort of laughter. He opened his mouth to interject, but she cut him off.

"You do, and I don't even know how it happens, because you don't have a nose to snore with," she continued, unable to keep a humorous expression from appearing on her face. "It's adorable, in a way. Prolific composer and headmaster Erik Carriere is a noseless snorer, and I'm probably the only one that knows it."

His expression was still just as confused, but he didn't try to speak. He only allowed her to continue, curious to see where this would go.

"And you make the best eggs in the morning. The whites aren't gooey but the yolk is still so runny, you can dip toast into it. It's really a talent."

This was enough to bring the tiniest semblance of a smile to his haunted features. Yet, she still had more to say.

"And you saw something in me, when we first met. Something _I_ couldn't even see. I was terrified, wondering if I had made the right choice, if I should have just gone to a normal college and gotten a normal degree like everyone else I knew. You believed in me when I didn't believe in myself, and yet you still wonder how I can stand to look at you." Her eyes were beginning to tear a little, but she continued, knowing she was finally getting at what she wanted to say. "So no, I'm not going to sit here and tell you that your face is perfect and wonderful, because it isn't. We both know it isn't. But there is so much more, Erik. So much more that makes you… well, you. It's everything."

He too was beginning to cry, his breath shuddering as he tried his best to hold in the tears. This was not what he envisioned when he asked her that question, but now that he had heard it, he wouldn't imagine it any other way. Yet, she still had one final confession.

"You know, for such a genius, you really are the least observant person I have ever met. I stand it because I love you."


	46. Chapter 46

**Author's Note: I realize I have been away for some months, and I dearly apologize. School work got the best of me, but during the last week of writing this chapter, I realized how happy I am to pick up this piece again. I hope this chapter makes up for my absence.**

 _I stand it because I love you._

 _I love you… I… love you._

Now, the real question was, what the hell do you get the girl you love for Christmas?

The holiday, quite frankly, had meant nothing to him before she had come into his life. She uprooted his casually melancholy existence in a swirl of joy and beauty that was nothing more than magical to him, and he was constantly dumbfounded as to the effect of a mere few months to his outlook on the world. It was this drop of happiness in a sea of grey that caused his terror of losing her. In his mind, the wrong words, the wrong touch, and she could be gone, like sand slipping between his fingers. He was less worried now due to the confirmation of her returned affections, but there was still his current quandry to be dealt with. Perhaps the wrong gift could prove disastrous as well.

"Sir, are you all right?" A dignified voice wormed its way into Erik's faraway thoughts, reminding him of where he was.

A stiff, well-dressed man stared at him across a glass counter, his presence reminding Erik of the indecency of standing for several minutes in the middle of a jewelry shop, silent and staring off into space. This rule particularly applied to men of the masked nature, he realized.

"Yes, fine," Erik replied shortly, blinking a few times to force his vision to focus. _Gift for Christine, right. Focus._

"Well, is there anything I can help you with?" The man pushed, forcing Erik to suppress his reflex to strangle him. But, unfortunately, he did need the man's help.

"Yes, actually," Erik began, his voice slightly more timid than he was used to. "Um… women's jewelry. Something special for my…" he faltered, "someone special."

The man vocalized understandingly, conjecturing that if his strange - yet obviously very wealthy - customer could not bring himself to say the word "girlfriend," that it was too early for a ring. Erik was soon brought to a dazzling collection of necklaces, each more exquisite than the next, though nothing compared to the shine of her eyes.

What the hell do you get a man who has everything for Christmas?

Christine has been stressing about the problem for days, and as Christmas inched closer and closer, she was beginning to panic. She had completed the red knitted scarf she planned to give him, but she couldn't possibly give him only a scarf for such a special holiday. Not when he had done so much for her. She contemplated buying him a watch or something else to wear, but he already had one, and from what she sw, Erik was a creature of habit. It would just be in his way, or sit in a drawer, never used. The worst fate for any gift.

The problem was that anything she could think of getting him as a gift was something he could easily buy himself, most likely with much less hassle than she was putting herself through. Admittedly, she didn't have a lot of money, as is the fate of a struggling college student, but she knew that whatever she gave him had to be special. It would be a waste if it wasn't. After a long think over a latte in a cafe - she felt terrible for it, but she needed the caffeine - she decided to take a trip to the house, a glimmer of inspiration quickly turning into a plan before her eyes.

The house technically belonged to her now. At eighteen, she owned a modest, but beautiful home in the Parisian suburb, and most would consider her lucky at first glance. Though, given the choice between homelessness and the grief that still pulled at her heart, Christine was certain which she would pick.

It was one of the few times she had returned. Even after these long months, there was healing that still had to be done, and forcing herself to creak open the door to silence and emptiness was almost more than she could bear. But now, she was there on a mission, and she pushed past the pain, past Mamma's favorite armchair and the hearth with ash still in it and the TV remote that hadn't been touched because that was where she left it last, up the stairs, and to the attic.

If Erik were there, he would have never allowed her near that place, due to the dust and the poor circulation. _Absolutely terrible for your throat,_ he would grumble, all low and dignified. But he wasn't there, and she was armed with the inhaler that she hadn't touched since eighth grade soccer season (the only soccer season she ever played in, she hated it). As she moved around boxes, dust swirled and danced in the dim light streaming in from one dirty window, looking not unlike the snowfall she missed so much in Sweden. The memories threatened to bring her to her knees, constantly reminding her of those that now only existed in her head, but she battled on. And at last, she found what she was looking for.

At first glance, it didn't look too special at all. The leather was worn, discolored in some places, evidence of years of use and love in sometimes not-ideal conditions. It was lived in, almost too much so, a stark contrast to the pristine instrument cases she had seen other professional musicians smugly toting around with them. No, her father's violin case was unequivocally him, in all the right ways. It smelled of his cologne, even after all these years, rosemary and pine permanently etched into the leather from being beside him for so long. The flood of memories was enough to break her down immediately, and she sat clumsily against the floor, pulling the thing haphazardly into her lap. After allowing her vision to recover from the tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, she flipped open the latches to the case, fingers fumbling and hands shaking and she lifted the lid. Nestled in the admittedly ugly green velvet lining was the construction of polished maplewood and brass tuners, which she remembered would glint in the sun during his days of playing for her outside, in the countryside.

For a fleeting moment, she considered the idea of not giving this to Erik. She entertained the temptation of selfishness, of wanting to keep these memories for herself and never let go. She reasoned, almost in a panic, that letting go of this piece of her father was like giving up, admitting that he was truly gone. Each memory of him still ached, as if he had only died yesterday. As a child, there was nothing but him, of travelling and sitting in the audience as he performed with great symphonies and distinguished conductors. But none of it mattered to her, not nearly as much as the time they spent together. She quickly recalled a particular sunny afternoon, filled with picnic-packed sweets and his fiddling in the park. She recalled what he said to her.

"This violin is older than you are, Lotte," he said, his voice light but undeniably masculine. "And it will outlive us all. I hope that, when I am gone, someone that loves you as much as I do will be its new owner."

Her selfish thoughts ceased as she realized that her father got exactly what he wanted.

She thought she had seen her father repair this violin enough times in order to do it herself without help, but it quickly became apparent that she was wrong. Partly because the memories she had of that time were grainy and clouded by emotion, and partly because she was so afraid of breaking it that she could barely force herself to touch it, but no matter. After a few days of mulling it over, watching YouTube tutorials that were never specific enough, she decided to take it to a professional. Luckily, it needed little more than a restringing, tuning, and polishing, and it wasn't long until the shop had called her with the news that it was ready to be picked up. Just in time.

"You're going out this early?" Erik's voice streamed silkily from the piano, followed by a questioning glance. It was Christmas Eve, an occasion which Christine had adamantly explained was celebrated by doing nothing but watching old movies and sipping cocoa dressed in nothing but your most comfortable pajamas. But she was fully dressed, a warm scarf wrapped around her throat to keep out the winter chill, and Erik was perplexed at her sudden change of heart.

"Meg wanted to meet for coffee," she replied, her voice a little too high. Erik stifled a chuckle, for it was too obvious that she was lying, but he held his tongue. When she refused his offer of a ride, he simply made her promise to text him, watching her dash out the door with just a little too much urgency for a coffee date with Meg. He did not push the matter, for he had been keeping secrets as well. The necklace box from the jeweler had been hiding in his underwear drawer for nearly a week, and drawing attention to her secrecy would only exaggerate his. It would all come out, in due time.

This year was Christine's first without a tree. Erik had nearly insisted on buying one for her, but she refused, reasoning about how difficult and cumbersome it would be to drag a shedding pine into his apartment elevator, all for the frankly underwhelming spectacle of watching it rot. Though, he knew as well that the tree was a large part of her childhood Christmas, something she would never experience again, and he did not push it.

There were arguments over who would cook, but eventually, Erik won out. He had a menu planned, and he begged for her permission under the pretense of redeeming himself after their first date. Though, he couldn't deny that his main motivation was being able to watch her from the kitchen, decked out in her Christmas pajamas and fuzzy slippers, as he produced aromas that would make her mouth water. That, he couldn't look forward to more.

Finally, there was the problem of Nadir. While Erik was hesitant to call his longest friend a problem, the fact that they had spent every Christmas together for the better part of a decade did add confusion to the situation. Erik and Nadir's idea of Christmas was spending the holiday in spite of the cheer, drinking brandy and playing chess until the early hours of the morning and never partaking in the frivolity of gift-giving and ceremonial ass-kissing. Their Christmases were happy ones, but Nadir understood that the two "budding lovebirds", as he liked to tease, would most likely want to spend their holiday together. He resided himself to the idea of drinking brandy alone in his apartment on Christmas day, and did not ask to come over. Erik did not push the subject, but Christine had other plans.

"Does Nadir have Christmas plans?" She asked nonchalantly, a few days previous. Erik could not conceal his surprise at her inquiry.

"I… well…" Erik lack of response conveyed his guilt, for he was not prepared to breach the subject. "We spend Christmas together every year, but this year, he did not ask. I wonder why."

It was at this moment that, once again, Christine wondered how such a brilliant man could be so daft.

"He probably assumed that we would not want him there. Being the _third wheel_ is never fun." Using a phrase that insinuated that they were a couple made Erik's eyes go slightly glassy. Even after several weeks, he could still barely fathom an existence where he wasn't alone. "Please invite him. I don't want him spending Christmas alone, and I would love his company."

And shortly after that, Nadir was called, an olive branch extended, and plans made.

Nadir came Christmas Eve. Despite his protests that he could wait until Christmas morning, that the traffic won't be too bad, Christine insisted that he spend the night. Erik, of course, had no choice in the matter, because although this was his house, he could never say no to her. His overnight bag was placed in the guest room (Christine's room, though she barely slept there anymore), and cups of tea were passed around as the fireplace warmed the living room. Among the nostalgic charm of holiday cheer, Erik glanced forlornly to his piano, feeling quite out of place.

"What about some… Christmas carols?"

The very act of Erik asking to merrily sing Christmas carols was enough to cause both Nadir and Christine to snort.

"Erik, I have known you for the better part of a decade," Nadir explained, pouring himself something a little stronger than tea from the decanter on the side table. "And never, not once, have I heard you play anything close to a Christmas carol."

"Do you even know any Christmas carols?" Christine chided in, hiding her giggling from behind her teacup.

"I do," Erik replied stonily.

"Uh huh. Name one."

"Well, there's…" He had to think for a moment. "Ah ha! That one with the baby in it."

"Erik, you will have to be more specific."

"There's more than one?"

"You didn't know that?"

"They all sound the same! That's not my fault!"

Christine gave another ungraceful snort of the pure irony of this situation.

"Christine, I think he just wants an excuse to hear you sing," Nadir commented helpfully, causing Erik's cheeks to go cherry red beneath the mask. "He's damn near enamored."

She looked to Erik, particularly pleased by the fact that _he_ was in the hot seat.

"Is this true, Erik?" She teased, clearly already knowing the answer.

He clenched his jaw, and said nothing. So, Christine took it upon herself to set down her cup of tea, standing and wandering over to the piano. She sat down at the bench, her posture just a little straighter now that she was sitting in Erik's place.

"So, the one with the baby?" She teased one last time before finding the chords for _Silent Night_. She sang the first few lines from memory, a trivial task for someone who sang in a church choir her whole life, while Erik and Nadir exchanged knowing glances. Her voice was easy and light, expressing a gentle beauty which caused both men to simply close their eyes and listen. Of course, she wasn't putting forth much effort, but her months of training made her singing effortlessly enchanting regardless.

When she finished, they applauded her, outwardly playful and secretly in reverence. She giggled, standing from the bench and acknowledging their good humor with a small curtsy.

"I daresay that, after that dazzling performance, I am ready for the Met, don't you think?"

"Yes, you are," Erik replied softly, his eyes sparkling.

Being kissed, Erik found, was a wonderful way to wake up.

Her hair tickled his cheek as she pressed her lips gently to his forehead, maskless as ever. It startled him, at first, but the realization that _she wanted to kiss him_ was the best Christmas present he could ever ask for. If this was what he had to look forward to, he had to remember to come to bed every night.

"Merry Christmas, Erik," she cooed, her voice soft and sleepy, as if she had just awoken herself.

"Merry Christmas, my dear."

As they slowly emerged from _their_ bedroom, both Erik and Christine stifled a giggle at the sight of Nadir already attacking the coffee pot. Before announcing their presence, they both simply watched him stare intently at the thing, as if counting the seconds before his brew was ready.

"This early, Nadir?" Erik teased bemusedly.

"I am a surgeon, Erik," he replied stonily, his intonation lazy. "The day does not begin before there is caffeine in my veins."

"Lucky you," Christine groaned, taking a deep breath as the aroma of fresh coffee hit her nose. She had snuck a latte last week, but it only renewed her passion for caffeine instead of satisfying her craving. She was suffering anew, but she refused to give in, for the sake of her vocal chords.

After both men held a fresh cup of hot coffee in their hand, Christine brooding jealously behind them, they flowed into the living room, where presents were laid out under the piano. After all, where were they expected to put them? It was very clear to see which was from who: Erik had his presents professionally wrapped, the paper glossy and meticulously folded, Christine wrapped hers' herself, looking much more homespun but beautiful nonetheless, and Nadir hadn't bothered, each of his presents deposited into gift bags.

Each was more surprised than the last that there were presents addressed to them, and almost by muscle memory, made their way to the sofa. Nadir, knowing that his two companions would most likely want to take more time receiving their gifts, went first.

"You didn't have to get me anything," Christine assured him, though it was too late. A bag was deposited in her lap anyway.

After carefully peeling away layers of red and green tissue paper, she came upon a leather-bound music binder, professional and sleek. She beamed.

"This is gorgeous," she breathed, turning it over before standing to give him a hug. "Thank you."

Nadir only smiled fondly before dropping a similar looking bag into Erik's lap, which proved to be hiding a bottle of top-shelf brandy.

"For next time," Nadir hinted.

Erik was up next. Although the pair of friends never normally exchanged gifts, the addition of Christine this year brought out a side of them that they didn't know existed. Before too long, Nadir was peeling away a layer of expensive-looking wrapping paper, concealing a bottle of scotch.

"Great minds think alike, I suppose," Erik explained, taking a long drag of his coffee before turning his attention to Christine.

"And for you," he prefaced, handing her the small, wrapped box. At first, she didn't seem to know what to do with it.

"You know, you didn't have to-"

"I wanted to," he cut her off gently. "Open it."

She sighed in resignation, pulling the jewelry box from its festive shroud of wrapping. Curious, she opened the lid, and her breath fell short.

A ruby gazed up at her from the velvet, encased in white gold and framed by tiny, delicate diamonds. A thin chin wrapped around the back of the lining, a stunning contrast to the depth of the case's color. She very highly doubted that she had ever held anything more expensive in her life.

"Erik…"

"Do you like it?" He asked timidly. To Nadir, he sounded like a puppy, eager to please.

Her first reflex was to say something along the lines of "this is too much" or "I can't accept this", but the words never left her mouth. She couldn't make herself say them. Instead, she simply agreed to allow Erik to put it on, still as shocked and speechless as she was initially. Through the reflection of her phone, she stared at the ruby nestled between her collarbones, so undeniably Erik's style, striking against her ivory skin.

"... Thank you."

Her words of grateful wonder were all the gratitude he needed.

Still wearing her necklace, Christine fetched one of her wrapped boxes from under the piano, presenting it to Nadir with a sweet smile. Upon unwrapping, he found a gift set, containing a coffee mug, a package of premium coffee beans, and a bottle of coffee liquor. Because she had such little warning that he was coming for Christmas, she made do with the timer she had, but it seemed to be the perfect gift.

"You know me startlingly well," Nadir replied humorously. "Thank you."

"Someone has to enjoy good coffee around here if I can't," she retorted, shooting a passing glance at Erik as she made her way to the piano for the remaining box. She hoped that her humor was enough to hide her nerves, for this was the gift she had been anxious to give since the idea sparked in her head. Would he love it, hate it? There was only one way to find out.

Though not at all large, the final wrapped box had been the biggest amongst the gifts. In fact, Erik was shocked that it was for him, assuming that perhaps Christine had gotten Nadir a sweater or something to fit in such a box. Of course, he did not expect her to give Nadir anything at all, but the gesture was sweet, and it only added to the reasons why he loved her so. But, upon being presented with the gift, he looked slightly overwhelmed.

"Well, open it," she encouraged, her voice soft as she took a seat on the sofa next to him.

She watched closely as he carefully undid the wrapping, working so deftly and precisely that she might have guessed he planned on keeping the paper as well. Though, she didn't mind, and soon he lifted the lid of the box to reveal that very violin case, in all its worn leather and ragtag glory. Erik froze, his mind turning, and Christine felt the need to explain.

"It… It had a previous owner."

By the reverent tone in her voice, he could already guess who the owner was. Opening the case only confirmed his suspicion.

This was her father's violin. He knew from the moment he saw it, though he didn't quite know why. Perhaps it was something he could see Christine playing, and therefore the man who raised her, but an innate feeling from his gut told him so. His throat closed at the thought of it in his lap, what it meant to her, and suddenly his diamond necklace seemed a mere pittance in comparison.

"Thankfully, he kept it in really good condition," she rambled, beginning to grow nervous due to Erik's silence. By the look in his eyes, she knew that he knew. "The shop I took it to said it was an easy restoration… I hope you like it."

 _She_ hopes that _he_ likes it? Anyone who discredited such a monumental gesture should be hung, Erik concluded. His head spun, there seemed to be not enough air, as if the world was collapsing in on the violin in the case.

"I cannot accept this," he breathed. "Christine… I am not worthy of such a gift."

"I can't think of anyone else who is," she consoled him, her own eyes shining with tears. "Besides, he would not have wanted it to sit in the attic for the rest of eternity. He told me so."

With the most tender of hands, Erik lifted the violin from the velvet lining, as if to assure her that he accepted her gift. After all, what choice did he have? He turned his gaze to her, honeyed eyes holding the weight of the world in their wake.

"What I did to deserve you, Christine Daae, I will never know."


End file.
